Love and the Need For Excitement
by R. Grace
Summary: Season 1 AU. Matthew's presence at Downton Abbey on the night of Kamal Pamuk's demise leads to a drastic change in the development of his relationship with Mary. Smut, smut, and more smut! Angst, explicit language, and OOC warning.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in my story, etc., etc.**

**A/N: **Yes, I'm starting yet another multi-chapter fic. Blame it on the ADD.

This is just a bit of Mary/Matthew fantasy. It was inspired by a line I wrote in The Love He Ought to Have, believe it or not. After Mary tells Matthew about Pamuk, Matthew responds, teasingly, "Seriously, Mary, if you were in need of excitement you could have come to me. I would have been vastly happy to oblige, I assure you." That line, and the song Kiwi by Maroon 5, gave birth to the following plot bunny. Fans of M/M smut rejoice!

The title comes from Mary's explanation for her indiscretion during her conversation with Matthew that takes place during the Christmas Special. He asks if she loved Pamuk. Mary says it wasn't love, but "lust, and a need for excitement." With Matthew, it's love, of course (eventually). Hence, the title.

**Blurb: **Season 1 AU. A sudden thunder storm makes it necessary for Matthew to stay overnight at Downton Abbey the night of Mary's tryst with Kamal Pamuk. A restless Matthew finds himself roped into the grisly task of carrying Mary's dead lover back to his bed. Over the next several months, Matthew finds himself offering Mary his services again and again, but in a much more enjoyable manner.

**Mature language and explicit sexual content warning. Adult readers only, please.**

**Also, both characters are slightly OOC. Don't take it too seriously. This is just me flexing my smut muscles, mainly. **

**As for the Pamuk incident, the way it happens in canon I believe it was very arguably rape, and that should always be taken seriously. But this is an AU, so I've taken liberties with the situation. No insensitivity or disrespect is intended. **

**Most of this A/N, incidentally, was written months after the story ended. I'm actually not a very big fan of this story any more myself, but I'll leave it up for those who do like it. **

* * *

_Love and the Need For Excitement_

_Chapter 1_

Mary cried out in ecstasy, overtaken by feelings she had never even imagined. She looked down at the mop of unruly brown curls between her thighs, willing her hands to release their grip on the source of her pleasure. Dark eyes glanced up at her then, and Kamal crawled up her body, his hands pulling her nightgown upwards until he could remove it from her completely. He certainly knew what he was doing. Mary could no longer care about her modesty, not after the gift he had just given her. She felt alive, uninhibited, and incredibly randy.

She reached for him, running her hands down his smooth back and hips as he hovered over her.

"My turn," that maddening accent growled in her ear.

Mary could only moan in response, suddenly quite willing to do whatever this exotic love god asked of her. He lay down on his side, kissing and nibbling her erect nipples as his hand guided hers down to his straining member. Mary gasped at that first touch. From that moment on, she would look at the male form as the most beautiful, incredible wonder of God's creation. Never had she felt skin so soft, so fine. He felt like velvet stretched over steel. Warm, supple, incredible...

Kamal gently pushed on her shoulder, encouraging her to scoot down the bed to, Mary gathered, pleasure him in a similar manner to the way he had pleasured her. She didn't mind. She was fascinated by him. She kissed a path down his flat belly, inhaling deeply of his masculine aroma. Conscious thought intruded for only a moment, allowing her to wonder what enchantment had taken her. She was a lady. She shouldn't have her face in an unclothed man's private area, enjoying the way he felt, looked, even the way he smelled. Suddenly, she could no longer care. He tasted heavenly too.

Mary delighted in his helpless whimper, the convulsive shudder that rocked his lithe frame, as her lips closed around him. She felt so powerful, so in control. His hands found their way into her hair, his hips pushing towards her, showing her the rhythm that made him squirm. She obliged him, running her tongue up and down the soft, fragrant skin. Her hands found his hard thighs, rounded buttocks, the warm sack between his legs...anything she could grasp she did, enjoying her intimate acquaintance with his delectable form. His body was so very different than hers. Different, and perfect, and beautiful.

His body shuddered again. He was completely in her power. Mary delighted in the heady sensation of control. She could handle any man in this way, bend any one of them to her will. If all women knew how to do this, the female species could run the world.

"Oh, God, Mary...I'm going to...aaaaahhhhhh..."

Salty moisture flooded her mouth as her lover jerked convulsively towards her, helpless cries leaving his lips. There wasn't much Mary could do but allow the creamy fluid to trickle out of her mouth, soiling the bed sheets below her.

Kamal's cries ceased and he became perfectly still. Mary wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, pausing to catch her breath and compose her thoughts after such an enlightening experience. Kamal's hand rested heavily upon her head, fingers still firmly tangled in her hair. After several minutes of stillness and silence, Mary wondered if her lover had fallen asleep. That would never do. He certainly couldn't stay there with her. She would need to rouse him and insist he return to his own room before they were found together.

"Mr. Pamuk," she whispered, reaching up to pat the hand that rested on her head. "Mr. Pamuk, wake up."

There was no response. He must be a heavy sleeper.

"Mr. Pamuk," she spoke a bit louder, moving to sit up on the bed. His fingers became hopelessly tangled in her hair, and she reached up to try to dislodge them.

The movement of Mary's body caused Kamal's to slump forward so that he was lying awkwardly on his belly. Mary's eyes sought his face, expecting to find him in peaceful repose, but the sight that greeted her made her blood run cold. For several moments she could only sit frozen, staring at the vacant brown eyes that remained open though her lover was clearly unconscious. He could be... Surely he couldn't be...dead?

Mary gasped. She carefully touched her fingers to the hand that was still tangled in her hair. Finding it quite unnaturally cold to the touch, she jerked her hand back, frantically pulling away no matter how her hair got pulled in the process.

She stared at his prone form for several moments. He was dead. She was sure of it. But how? Why? And, most importantly, how was she to remove him from her bed?

Anna. She could trust Anna with her embarrassing secret. Mary found her nightgown on the floor, and pulled it on quickly. She smoothed her hair down as best she could, then slipped her feet into her slippers and padded to the door.

* * *

Matthew was finding it impossible to sleep. The rain pounded loudly against his window. The panes rattled alarmingly with each rumble of thunder. He had never been able to rest easily during thunder storms, and it didn't help that he was under the same roof as his incredibly alluring distant cousin, Mary. His desire for her was eating at him day and night. She was, by far, the most desirable woman he had ever seen. More than her lovely face and flawless form, he loved her indomitable spirit, her wit, her vivacity. Mary was a woman in a million. He often wondered how she would behave in bed. There was an impulsiveness about her, an undercurrent of rebellious, restless energy that made him think she would be a tigress in the bedroom. He desperately wanted to find out if his suspicions were true. Any man lucky enough to unlock her secrets could meet his end immediately afterwards having lived a full and complete life.

Deciding a short walk might aid his attempts at slumber, Matthew rose and donned his dressing gown and slippers. The corridors were silent and still. He lit a candle from the fireplace and slipped through the door and into the cool, still air of the hallways. He wasn't sure exactly where he was going. He simply wandered where his feet would go.

Matthew stopped short when an angelic figure appeared before him, dressed in night attire of flowing, diaphanous white silk and lace. _Mary._

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was so infinitely lovely - a vision. Her long, dark hair flowed unbound over her shoulders, covering the small mounds of her breasts that would otherwise be clearly discernible under her flimsy clothing. His gaze moved downward over her. Her graceful, slender legs were silhouetted under the material. Matthew knew his dressing gown must be tenting alarmingly by now, but he couldn't care. He was transfixed.

Mary was shocked and alarmed to have run into Matthew stalking the corridors as she made her way towards the servant's quarters to rouse Anna. Damn the thunderstorm that had made it necessary for him to stay! What on earth was he doing out of his room at this time of night? Up to no good, no doubt. Mary scoffed internally at the ironic turn of her thoughts. He couldn't possibly be up to anything worse than she was.

"Cousin Mary," Matthew greeted her, finding his tongue after several moments of mute gawking. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour? Can I be of any assistance?"

"Cousin Matthew," Mary responded, her tone barely civil, and dripping with impatience. "I could ask you the same thing. I was just..."

Mary fell suddenly silent as an idea struck her, and she began to silently debate the possible usefulness of her unlooked-for companion. Having been very recently enlightened as to the intricacies of the male form, Mary could easily see the effect she was having on her cousin. It would certainly be useful to have a man's strength in such a case. She could have Matthew carry Kamal back to his room for her. It would save her the trouble of bringing a servant into her confidence, and, realistically, it was unlikely she and Anna could have managed his removal alone anyway. It could work. Matthew was a man after all. He could probably be convinced to keep her confidence if he thought there might be certain benefits involved for him. Of her entire acquaintance, Cousin Matthew was the person whose opinion of her she cared about the least, so it didn't matter if he thought badly of her for what she had done. Yes, it could work.

"Actually, Cousin Matthew, there is something you can assist me with."

"Oh." Matthew's curiosity was peaked by her request. He was intrigued by her silent study of him, hopeful that she had been please by what she saw. She had certainly seemed to reach some resolve by the end of her contemplation. He couldn't imagine what it was, but he was eager to find out.

"This way," she whispered, motioning for him to follow her in the direction from which she came.

When he realized that their destination was Mary's bedroom, Matthew's heart began to quicken with anticipation. What could she possibly need him for that she wouldn't simply ring for a servant's assistance with? Whatever it was, he was only to happy to be of service. Mary didn't seem to like him too well, and he was keen to change her opinion of him in whatever way she would allow him to try to do so. He was beginning to think he would have to marry her, if only to be able to sleep nights.

Mary paused when she reached the doorway, turning towards Matthew with a suddenly sullen expression.

"Cousin Matthew, I must warn you that what you are about to see is...rather shocking. First, I require your faithful vow that this will remain strictly between the two of us. You must promise never to speak of this to anyone. And, if you break that promise, you...well, you will wish you'd never been born. I will personally see to it. Do I have your word?"

Matthew nodded automatically, confused by Mary's cryptic words, and battling a nagging uncertainty regarding the wisdom of making such a promise. One look down at Mary's delicate form and soulful eyes so very, very close to him, and he decided that he would do whatever it was she asked. How could he possibly say no to such an angel?

Matthew agreed to the promise Mary had asked him to make, and was profuse in his assurances that, whatever secret the two of them were about to share, would remain between them. Mary pushed open the door and led him into the room.

"He's dead," Mary said, her voice suddenly tremulous.

"W-what? Whom?" Matthew stuttered gracelessly, his eyes still following Mary's tempting form.

Mary, exasperated by Matthew's obliviousness, jerked her head impatiently in the direction of the bed.

"Good God!" Matthew exclaimed, a bit too loudly.

Mary was quick to shush him, flying to his side to clap her hand over his mouth.

"Quiet! Do you wish to alert the entire house?" she chastened. "Now, I need you to help me carry him back to his room. He must be found there in the morning. Obviously no one, except you and I, can know he was here."

"But...b-but..." Matthew stuttered again, quite unsure what to think of the situation. Mr. Pamuk was lying face down in Mary's bed, quite naked from the looks of it. "What was he doing here in the first place? What happened to him?"

By that time, Matthew was in enough command of his faculties to walk over to the deceased gentleman's side and feel for his pulse. The coldness of his skin would have told Matthew all he needed to know without waiting for any further indication, but he tried all the same. Sure enough, the poor chap was stone cold dead.

"Come now, Cousin Matthew," Mary answered him in a harsh, clipped tone, "we're both adults here. What do you suppose he was doing in my bed?"

Matthew lifted the sheet, then quickly replaced it.

"Good God!" he exclaimed again, at a more moderate volume this time. "He's naked! Why is he naked?"

Mary rolled her eyes again, and began to question the wisdom of bringing such a loggerhead into such a private matter. Surely Anna wouldn't have had to ask so many questions.

"Think, Cousin Matthew. He's in my room, in my bed, naked. It isn't a very difficult mystery to solve."

"I...hate to cast aspersions on your character, Cousin Mary, but was this man, perhaps...your lover?"

"Finally," she huffed impatiently.

Matthew's eyes went wide. Intense jealousy coursed through him, making him see red. If the Turkish rat weren't already dead, he would have killed him with his bare hands.

"Now, are you going to help me get him out of her, or aren't you? We haven't much time."

Mary's voice jolted Matthew out of his grim reverie. She was right. He had promised to help her, and help her he would, no matter how much he wished he'd remained in his room.

Matthew's eyes darted around the room until they fell on the discarded dressing gown lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Here," he extended a hand in Mary's direction, "come help me put it on him."

Mary nodded and moved to help with the grisly task. Matthew held Kamal's stiff arms, one at a time, while Mary slipped them into their respective sleeves. Matthew then turned the corpse face up so that he could tie the garment closed. An involuntary shudder escaped him.

"You owe me big time for this, Mary," he sighed petulantly. He probably wouldn't be able to sleep for a month after this experience, and it wasn't even over yet.

"Not if you don't keep my secret," she shot back.

"Oh, I'll keep your filthy secret, all right. Not that anybody would believe me if I told them. What happened to him, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Mary replied, traces of uncertainty beginning to show through her facade. "One minute he was...crying out in ecstasy, and the next he was...as you see."

Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head several times to clear it of unwanted images and maddening jealousy.

"Sounds like you were too much for this poor fellow's heart to handle," Matthew surmised. "You must be good."

Mary blushed, truly embarrassed, by his last statement.

"To die for, apparently," Matthew quipped.

"Oh, would you please just shut up?" Mary snapped. "I called you in here to help me, not see how many one-liners you can come up with. Now, pick him up, and let's go."

Matthew sighed irritably, but positioned the Turk's arm over his shoulder, lifting the dead weight easily onto his back. Mary couldn't help but be impressed by the ease with which Matthew lifted the fully grown man's body onto his broad shoulders. He was good for something, at least.

Glancing over the rumpled sheets, Matthew was relieved to see no trace of blood on them. Either Mary hadn't lost her maidenhead during this encounter or she had already lost it . The latter option being the most unlikely, Matthew was hopeful that nothing irreparable had taken place. He planned on questioning Mary further about just what had transpired before the gentleman kicked it, but it would wait until morning.

"Lead the way, milady," Matthew sighed from under his burden.

Mary made her way to the door, making sure the way was clear before motioning for Matthew to follow her. The pair, and their unresponsive companion in tow, made their way as quickly as possible through the deserted hallways, Matthew pausing before each corner to allow Mary to ensure that the way was clear before proceeding. When, at last, they reached the room in which Mr. Pamuk had been situated, Mary pushed open the door, thankful that they had made it unseen. She moved to the bed and drew back the covers. Matthew dropped his burden heavily onto the bed, causing the body to bounce several times. Together, they drew the covers up over Kamal's body.

Matthew turned to go, but soon realized Mary wasn't behind him. He turned to see her standing over the dead Turk, trying, in vain, to close the poor soul's eyes.

"Mary, it's useless. Come, we must get you back to bed. Apparently, it's been a big night."

Mary made a face at him, but allowed herself to be led from the room.

"My room's just a few doors down," Matthew informed her after the door clicked closed behind them. "Go back to your room now, Mary. Try to get some sleep, if you can. We'll discuss this further in the morning."

"I beg to differ," Mary retorted. "There is nothing that _we _need to discuss. It's done, and there's an end to it."

"No, _I _beg to differ, my dear cousin," Matthew shot back. "If you think you can put me through...what you put me through tonight and get off scott free, you are sadly mistaken. I think you _do _own me an explanation, and I shall have it. Sweet dreams, Cousin Mary."

With that, Matthew turned and disappeared into his assigned room, desperately wishing that it had not stormed that night and that he was back in his bed at Crawley House, basking in blissful ignorance.

Mary also returned to her room, irritable, sad, and exhausted. She was tired, but there was no way she was getting back into that bed. Curling up on the settee in the corner, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Well, whatcha think? Anybody interested in seeing how Matthew responds to Mary's explanation of the situation? Give it a couple chapters to get going, and the M/M steam engine will start rolling. (Ok, that was really corny. It's past my bed time.:)) Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_Part ll_

Matthew was rudely awakened only a few moments after drifting off into a light slumber by a loud exclamation, followed by the harsh clanging of a tray of tea things falling to the ground. Apparently the body had been discovered.

Jumping up from his reclined position against the headboard of his borrowed bed, Matthew hurried from the room to appear surprised by the commotion. Thomas had immediately rang the bell, summoning Carson, Mrs. Hughs, and William, who were all already on the scene.

"What's going on?" Matthew asked innocently, making a big show of rubbing his eyes and stretching.

"Oh, Mr. Crawley," Mrs. Hughs spoke up, "it's such a shock! Mr. Pamuk has been found dead in his bed! Such a young, seemingly-robust man. Who would have thought?"

Matthew allowed his mouth to hang open, feigning shock. The shock was, in fact, still fresh enough from a few hours before that it wasn't very difficult to accomplish.

"How awful," he exclaimed feelingly. "Has his lordship been informed?"

"Carson is on his way to inform him now, Mr. Crawley."

"And the doctor?" Matthew asked.

"I don't think there's anything the doctor can do for the poor soul now, sir," the kind housekeeper answered.

"Nevertheless, he should be sent for. When one so young dies so unexpectedly, it is necessary to have a doctor examine the body for evidence of...foul play. His embassy will surely want a report from the doctor proving that Mr. Pamuk expired of natural causes."

"Quite right, sir. I'll send the driver for him now."

With that, Mrs. Hughs bustled away to complete her task, and Matthew turned and went back into his room. He dressed hurriedly, eager to offer his support and assistance to Robert. It would surely be needed.

Mary was another issue entirely. He had thought a lot about the situation after retiring for the second time, and had concluded that he could hardly criticize her for her actions. It would be terribly hypocritical for him to think poorly of her when he himself had been known to commit the occasional youthful indiscretion during his university days. He was also aware that he hadn't actually heard an account of what transpired from Mary's own lips. He had merely surmised from the evidence before him. He would allow her to defend herself before passing judgement.

His conversation with Mary would have to wait for later. Robert was his first priority. Matthew sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the heavens that he was the only one who knew the truth of what transpired the previous evening. The entire family would have been devastated by the scandal that would certainly break if any of the servants were to learn the truth. Robert would have been hurt deeply to learn that his eldest daughter would behave as she had. Matthew was glad he could spare the family he was coming to love such heartache and embarrassment. Mary may not think much of him, but he cared deeply for all the members of his newly-discovered family, and would never wish for any of them to be hurt, if it was within his power to prevent it. Why she even thought he might speak to anyone of her indiscretion was beyond his power to comprehend. Did she really think so meanly of him?

Once he was presentable, Matthew made good time to the library, where, as he expected to, he found a very distraught Lord Grantham. He was pleased that his mentor looked happy to see him, and immediately set about doing what he could to be of service.

* * *

Mary made her way slowly downstairs an hour or so after her usual time. Anna had informed Mary of Kamal's discovery when she found her sleeping mistress unusually situated on the settee. Tears immediately formed in Mary's eyes at the reminder, but she quickly pushed them back. She hated crying more than most anything else, and refused to surrender to tears without a fight. She requested a bath, hoping that washing any remainder of the night's activities from her body would aid her in distancing herself from the painful memory.

She sighed forlornly to herself. It had been a beautiful memory until Kamal had...until he had... She almost couldn't bring herself to think the word. It was too horrible.

_He was so beautiful._

Relaxing in her hot bath, thoughts of Matthew suddenly intruded on her quest for equanimity, causing her to groan in frustration. Why couldn't he just let it go? Now, on top of everything she was thinking and feeling, she had Matthew's promised inquisition to look forward to. At least he had gotten her out of her predicament, and was unlikely to speak of it to anyone. She wasn't sure why she had been so concerned that he might. He would have to be even more daft than she already thought he was not to realize how the scandal would affect him personally, as his name was now tied to hers. Perhaps shock and fatigue had clouded her judgement. She wished she could apply the same excuse to how she found herself in the situation in the first place.

After her bath, Mary had allowed Anna to dress her and arrange her hair, all the while wondering how she was going to face the day ahead.

* * *

Amidst all the hustle and bustle following the discovery of the dead Turk's body (thankfully, pronounced dead by natural causes by the doctor) at Downton Abbey, Matthew was unable to find a moment alone with Mary in which they could speak privately. She retired early, claiming a headache after the day's trying events, but Matthew knew her better than to fall for that trick. Mary Crawley was no weak and feeble female prone to headaches and fainting fits as others may be. No, Mary was avoiding the conversation she knew they needed to have, and Matthew wasn't going to allow her to get away with it.

It was nearly midnight when Matthew finished his nightcap with Lord Grantham in the library. Claiming a touch of a headache and severe fatigue himself, which, as he hadn't slept the previous night was not entirely a prevarication, Matthew garnered an invitation to stay over for anther night. He went to his borrowed room and waited until he was sure no one would be about before slipping quietly into the corridors, taking what he hoped he remembered correctly to be the way to Mary's room.

He tapped softly on the door when he reached it, waiting a few moments to allow her to prepare herself, if needs be, before turning the knob and entering, closing the door and securing the lock behind him. Matthew knew better than to think Mary would grant him entrance if he gave her the option, so he didn't.

"After last night, you would think I would learn to lock my door."

Mary's tired voice came from the back corner of the room, where she was ensconced on the settee, the coverlet from the bed draped around her shoulders. She looked so small, swallowed completely by the large coverlet. Matthew felt a sudden urge to protect her, to shelter her from whatever it was that was causing her to appear so weary and so forlorn.

"Mary, I didn't come here to cause you further distress. Believe me, I care only about your well being," Matthew spoke softly.

Mary laughed scornfully at his concern, waving him off with an imperious flick of her dainty wrist.

"Oh, Cousin Matthew, you don't mean that. You're curious, and I can't say I blame you for being so. Only call it what it is. You don't care for me. Of course, you don't."

"Don't say things like that, Mary," Matthew shot back, hurt that she thought so little of him. "I do care about you. I care a very great deal. More than you, apparently, know."

"I'm too tired to argue with you on this, Cousin Matthew," Mary conceded. "Ask what you came to ask, so that we can both try to get some sleep tonight."

Matthew crossed the room to take a seat by her side on the settee. The sweet scent of lavender water filled his senses. She was so close, he could have reached out and pulled her into his arms, if he thought she would have allowed it. He wanted to.

"Mary, I simply want to hear your honest explanation of what transpired last night. I know not everything is always as it seems, and I would not wish to make judgements about your character without giving you a chance to defend yourself."

"What defense can I possibly give for my actions?" Mary threw up her hands helplessly, unable to find the words to explain herself, even to herself. "It was as you saw. I _did_ allow him into my bed. I allowed him to touch me, to... do things to me. And I allowed him to show me what he wanted me to do to please him in return. I took astonishingly little convincing, to tell you the truth."

"So, you didn't invite him here?" Matthew asked hopefully.

"No. I was quite surprised when he showed up at the door. I'm not sure how he even knew which room was mine. I told him to go away, but he refused. I threatened to scream, but he said my reputation would already be ruined simply by having him in my room. I knew he was right. I...And then he assured me I would still be a virgin for my husband. I admit that my curiosity was peaked at that point. It had become clear that he wasn't going to leave until I gave him what he wanted, so I decided all I could do was make the best of it."

"So, he didn't...there's no possibility there could be a child?"

"Oh, God, no. No, he remained true to his promise. I can say that much for Mr. Pamuk, whatever his other failings."

Matthew nodded, relieved that nothing irreparable had been done, and there would be no disastrous consequences that he could foresee.

"I am relieved to hear it," he whispered quietly, staring down at his hands clasped over his knees.

A small sniffle drew his attention. Matthew was astonished to see Mary, his brave, haughty, untouchable Mary, crying softly into her hands.

"Did you love him?" he asked, a bit harsher than he intended.

Strangely, his brusqueness seemed to rouse Mary from her moment of weakness, and he saw the brave Mary he knew beginning to shine through once again.

"Of course not," she answered, equally brusquely. "I hardly knew him. How could it be love?"

Matthew pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and passed it to Mary, who accepted with a quiet, and somewhat grudging, expression of thanks. She held the small piece of fabric to her nose even after it had served its purpose. It smelled like citrus and black pepper, like Matthew. The smell was surprisingly comforting.

"No, it wasn't love," she continued softly. "It was...lust, I suppose...and a need for excitement, to feel that I was in control of my own body and my own life. To rebel, somehow."

"Mary," Matthew began uncertainly, "I understand how you feel..."

"No, you don't," Mary cut him off harshly. "You have been handed everything that should have been mine on a silver platter. How could you possibly understand how I feel?"

"Ok, maybe I don't _understand_, exactly," he replied. "But, I do care, Mary. I do understand the unjustness of the whole situation. Believe me, I do. I'd be willing to give it all to you, but you wouldn't accept it if I tried to."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary retorted, frustrated by his vague remark.

"Never mind," Matthew waved her off with a weary sigh. "Perhaps we will revisit this conversation at a later date, but, for now, we need to get some rest."

Standing, he held out his hand to her. To his surprise, Mary placed her small, cold hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Understanding her desire to avoid the bed in which a man had so recently perished, Matthew tried to alleviate her fears. He placed an arm lightly around her shoulders, steering her towards the bed. Mary was so desperately tired that she made no complaint, simply allowing him to direct her steps. When they reached the bed, Matthew removed the coverlet from her shoulders and spread it back in its place on the bed. He helped her climb in, then drew the coverings over her, tucking them carefully around her delicate form.

"Sleep now, Mary," Matthew whispered, patting her hand comfortingly. "We'll talk again tomorrow."

Mary looked up at Matthew, standing tall and still beside her. The last conscious thought she had was that his eyes were the exact color of the summer sky on a clear day.

Matthew made his way silently back to his own borrowed room after assuring himself that Mary was safely asleep. His heart beat wildly in his chest, but, this time, it wasn't simply the persistent visceral reaction to Mary's physical presence that he had come to expect over the past months.

It seemed impossible to his rational mind that, after discovering that Mary had taken a lover - had allowed another man into her bed, had done things with him and to him - it seemed impossible that, after all that, he would still have any feelings at all for her, that he would ever want to be in her presence again. Yet, somehow, he wanted her more than he ever had, and not only in the physical sense. That night in her room, he had seen a different Mary, the real Mary. The Mary that felt things deeply. The Mary who was vulnerable, sensitive, even frightened. He wanted to protect her, to give her everything she desired, to lavish affection and care on her. Mary was a passionate woman with more capacity to love and to give than she, or anyone else, knew.

More than ever, Matthew was resolved that Mary would, one day, be his wife. This secret was his opening, something they shared in common that would allow him access to her innermost thoughts and feelings. He would court her, win her, and make her his. Whatever he had to do, and however long it took, his resolve was set, and he would never accept defeat.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, not much action, yet. Gotta set the stage for what's to come. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed!


	3. Chapter 3

_Part lll_

Days passed, and soon it had been a full week since the dramatic passing of Mr. Pamuk. Life at Downton Abbey returned to normal for all inhabitants, save one. Mary was still troubled by what had transpired, as anyone might expect her to be, though perhaps not for the reason they might expect. While she was sorry that Kamal had passed at so tragically young an age, her grief for his death itself lasted only about a day or so following the actual event. What troubled Mary most was the confusion of her own feelings in regards to the more intimate experiences she had shared with the handsome Turk that night.

Mary's most pressing problem was that Kamal had unleashed feelings inside her that had lain largely dormant before due to her own ignorance and inexperience. Now that she had tasted the pleasure and heady delight of sensual dalliance, she yearned for more. The small sampling Kamal had give her hadn't been nearly enough. He had only wetted her sensual appetite.

Another troubling aspect of the situation was that Mary discovered herself to actually care that Matthew might think poorly of her because of what she had done. She wasn't sure what troubled her more - the worry that he might think ill of her, or the fact that she cared what he thought at all. She had been determined from the first to dislike Matthew, but had, for the past several weeks, been finding it increasingly difficult to do so. The gracious and discreet manner in which he had handled her embarrassing predicament only added to her reluctant esteem. He had even said he cared about her feelings in regards to the entail. He had said he would give it all to her if he thought she would accept it, whatever that meant. It was the kindest thing anyone had said to her in longer than she could recall.

Her recent enlightenment had even made her notice things about Matthew that she never would have thought to take note of before, things that pleased her hungry eyes very well. She noticed that his lips were full and soft, and that his eyes darkened when she caught him staring. She noticed the broad set of his shoulders and the way his trousers fit across his hips. He was built on a slightly larger scale than Kamal, but seemed no less athletic or fit than her deceased lover had been. One evening, as she studied him across the dinner table, she even decided that she preferred his golden hair and fair skin to the Turk's darker, exotic appeal. What could possibly have come over her to provoke such a strange thought? It was beyond baffling, and more than a little disconcerting. The traitorous thought was immediately brushed off and discredited as the effect of too much wine.

The day after the discovery of the body, Matthew had sought her out, immediately asking after her well-being. Mary couldn't imagine why he would be so concerned for her feelings after she had behaved so poorly and put him through such an ordeal, and she was even mildly annoyed that he apparently thought her fragile enough to need to be checked up on.

"If there's ever anything I can do, let me know," he had offered with a crooked grin and a tip of his hat. She couldn't help smiling ruefully at the memory. As if there was anything anybody could do.

Unbidden, an image of what he _could_ do for her flashed before her mind's eye as she recalled his words. Did she merely imagine the double meaning behind them? Surely she did. Matthew was, for all his middle-class upbringing and manners, a gentleman in regards to his treatment of ladies. Still, for a moment she allowed herself to imagine his golden head between her thighs, his large hands roaming the most sensitive areas of her body...

Mary shook her head to clear it again. Such imaginings would do nobody any good. Besides, how was she to continue hating Matthew if she persisted in desiring him in such an intimate manner.

The answer was suddenly very clear. She could have her cake and eat it too, so to speak. Men were often known to objectify women, to use them for their own gratification and pleasure. That was precisely what Kamal had done with her, wasn't it? Why shouldn't it work the other way around, as well? Matthew would probably be all too happy to help her with her...personal needs. She had become very adept at spotting men who were attracted to her, and Matthew was definitely attracted. He had, after all, asked that if there were ever _anything _he could do to help her that she would let him know. There was the risk that he might think even more poorly of her after she requested such a thing, in the unlikely event he decided not to agree to her demands, but what would it really matter?

It was almost only fair, in a way, that he do what he could for her. He was getting her home and her mother's money, so he may as well make himself useful to her in some way. Why not _this_ way?

_Well, he isn't Kamal Pamuk, but he'll do. _

It wasn't as though she had other options, and her own slender fingers were sadly inadequate to sate her frustrated desires. For that she needed a man. Matthew would simply have to do.

* * *

Matthew noted a marked change in Mary's demeanor towards him as she accepted his invitation to play a few games with him at the fair late in the evening. She seemed almost nervous, and strangely uncertain for one normally so composed. Several times, he caught her studying him intently from the corner of her eye. It was very odd. Very odd indeed.

When he asked her if he could look in on her father later that evening, she had nearly jumped out of her skin. He would have thought she might be interested to hear about what her grandmother had requested of him regarding her "great matter," but she seemed more interested in studying the weave of his jacket than attending what he was saying.

Stepping away from the "Coconut Saloon" they had been half-way trying at, Matthew collected his bicycle from against a nearby tree and began walking away from the crowd, hoping for a semi-private moment in which they could speak plainly.

"Mary, I cannot help but notice your preoccupation this evening. Is something troubling you?"

Mary shook her head vigorously, and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. Forming her resolve had been easy, but deciding how she was to go about actually phrasing her proposition to Matthew wasn't so cut and dry. They would have to be completely alone and in a much more private location than the village streets.

"Now that you mention it, there is something I would like to speak with you about," she answered quietly.

"Oh?" Matthew responded, intrigued and curious as to what Mary might say next.

"I cannot speak of it here," Mary continued. "Perhaps a... private moment can be contrived within the next day or so?"

_A private moment? _Matthew was becoming more intrigued by the minute.

"I suppose something could be arranged," he answered, his mind already busy with the task of contriving said private moment at as early a time as possible. "Does this have something to do with...with the events of the night of the storm?"

"Yes, actually," Mary answered. "You said that, if there was anything you could ever do to help, that I could ask you. I have thought of something, and I would like a private moment to discuss it."

"I'm not sure you were attending earlier when I mentioned I would like to look in on your father this evening, but, if you will help me to meet discreetly with him, I may be able to linger for a while afterwards," he offered.

"Oh. Forgive me, I wasn't listening to you earlier. What is it you need to speak with my father about so urgently?" Mary asked.

Matthew sighed deeply, loath to break their friendly communion by reminding Mary of the reason she didn't like him.

"It seems that your grandmother needed a lawyer to investigate the details of the entail to determine if there might be a loophole your father may not know of that would allow the estate to pass to you. For some reason, she decided to come to me with this request."

Mary gasped quietly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. What on earth was her Granny about? Of course Matthew would conveniently fail to find any way to break the entail, even if such a way existed. Any qualms she may have had about using Matthew for her own pleasure vanished before her growing anger.

"So, did you find anything?" she asked indignantly. "Oh, silly me to even ask such a thing. Of course, you didn't."

"Mary, I can assure you I tried. If there was a way, I would have found it and presented it to your father. You have my word on that."

Mary huffed impatiently, wishing to argue but lacking the energy for it. She hadn't been sleeping well since Kamal's death. The fact that there had so recently been a corpse in her bed certainly didn't help. She was often forced to take up residence of the settee to get any rest at all. She would simply have to make some new, more pleasant, memories in that bed to exorcise the ghost of Mr. Pamuk, as it were.

"Will you help me meet secretly with your father?" Matthew asked again. "I would like to fill him in on my findings without the other ladies being informed. I don't wish to upset Cousin Violet, and I need his help deciding how to approach her."

"But you, apparently, have no problem upsetting me," Mary grumbled, wishing the conversation were at an end.

"Look," Matthew continued, "I'll sneak into the Abbey just after the supper hour. I can speak to your father before he has to rejoin the ladies after the separation. It won't take long. Then you can excuse yourself to speak with me about...whatever it is you wish to speak with me about."

Seeing the logic in Matthew's plan, Mary reluctantly agreed, though, after the awkward moment that had just passed between them, she had absolutely no idea how she was going to go through with her resolution.

Mary made sure to have an extra glass of wine at dinner that evening, fortifying herself for what she planned on doing. There was a side of her that wished to give up the idea altogether - the cowardly side. As was usually the case with Mary, her more determined side won out in the end. She was determined to have what she wanted, and what she wanted was more excitement in her life. She needed to do something to assert herself against the rigidity of her staid existence, to do just one thing to please herself and herself alone. She needed to feel _alive_, as she had, ironically, just before Kamal had died.

The memory of that dreadful moment irritated her. It was definitely time to replace that memory.

Her heart fluttered nervously with the knowledge that she would see Matthew very soon. She still worried that her courage might fail her, after all.

* * *

Matthew watched from the foyer as the ladies exited the dining room. Mary was the last to exit. He allowed his eyes to enjoy the covert view of her figure from behind. Mary was the epitome of his ideal woman. He had known it at first glance. His eyes traced the hourglass shape of her, from her trim waist to her rounded bottom and back up again. He smiled guiltily when she turned, sure that she must have noticed that his eyes were focused lower than they should have been.

The sight of Mary floating towards him in her flowing white gown made him catch his breath. She was so lovely, it simply tore at his heart. He pictured her waking towards him down the isle of a grand cathedral, the light from the stained glass windows causing her to glow like a heavenly vision. Before he was truly prepared for it, she was only a few feet away from him, and he was confronted with a stunning pair of large brown eyes.

"Wait in the library," she instructed him. "I'll let Papa know you're here."

Matthew struggled not to stare at her mouth when she spoke. Mary had the sweetest little rounded mouth, almost like a doll's. The motion of her lips was mesmerizing. As he forced himself to turn from her and make his way to the library, Matthew prayed that his arousal would subside before her father noticed.

* * *

Mary's heart raced alarmingly as she awaited her turn to speak with Matthew in the library. Seeing him again, looking so uncommonly handsome in his dark suit and red tie, had strengthened her resolve. Not to mention, the lustful look in his eye as he espied her hadn't gone unnoticed, or unappreciated. It had greatly bolstered her courage.

It was unfortunate that Carson hadn't gotten the memo on the secrecy of Matthew's visit. Mary was forced to follow helplessly behind her irate grandmother as she charged into the library to interrupt the gentlemen's conversation. The evening wasn't exactly proceeding as she had planned. To top it off, Matthew revealed to her that they would need a private bill in parliament to break the entail, which was as good as saying it was impossible.

"And I mean nothing in all this," she sighed in exasperation, hands hanging dejectedly at her sides.

"On the contrary, you mean a great deal," Matthew quickly sought to reassure her. "A _very_ great deal."

His blue eyes were intense as he willed her to see the deeper meaning behind his words. How he wished he could simply take her in his arms at that moment and tell her she needn't worry, that the words she had overheard him speaking that first day of their acquaintance were nothing more than the petulant rantings of a stubborn young fool, and that he would be happy to marry her and give her all that she desired. If he thought there was any chance at all she might answer in the affirmative, he would have. He would make her love him one way or another. Whether that happened before or after they married made little difference to him. He was confident in their compatibility, in the unique connection they seemed to share. It would win out in the end. The rest was only detail.

At the moment, however, he was almost positive she would refuse his suit, if only for the pleasure of disappointing him. If he knew Mary, and he liked to think that he was beginning to understand her, then she wouldn't agree to marry him unless she developed at least some regard for him. For the time being, he would have to work towards nurturing that regard.

Carson entered before another word could be spoken. Mary was beginning to worry that she wouldn't get her private moment that night. She would have to tell Carson that Matthew was leaving, for the sake a appearances. If things didn't work out just right, he may actually have to leave before she was able to speak with him. It would have to be risked, however, for the sake of discovering the whereabouts of her father. If things went the way she hoped they would, her father was the last person she wanted entering unexpectedly.

"You rang, milady," the somber butler asked.

"Yes, Carson. Mr. Crawley was just leaving. Do you know where his lordship is?"

"Gone to bed, milady. He felt tired after he put Lady Grantham into the car," Carson answered.

"I bet he did." Mary smiled knowingly, and a bit fondly, at the thought of what her tenacious Granny must have put him through even in such a short time. She was also pleased that her father was out of the way. Her prey was now safely cornered. All that was left for her to do was go in for the kill.

She thanked Carson politely, then watched silently until the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her, once again, alone with an unsuspecting Matthew.

"I'm sorry," Matthew apologized lamely, feeling dreadful for being the source of Mary's distress. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

Mary's tongue darted out to wet her lips, which felt suddenly very dry.

"Yes, well," she began, "that brings me to...what I wanted to speak privately with you about."

Matthew stood a bit taller, happy that she was finally going to ask something of him. It would be a tremendous relief to be able to do something that would put him in better standing with Mary. A pleasant smile brightened his face at the thought.

"Ah, yes. I've been wondering what it was you wished to ask me about all day," he spoke cheerfully. "Now, what is it I can do for you?"

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the cliffy! Not! :)

Next time: how will Matthew react to Mary's proposition? Have your fans and smelling salts in hand!

Just one more little note. This whole story is pure fantasy for fantasy's sake, and isn't intended to be taken _too _seriously. The smut is the whole point, and will be abundant after the next chapter. Just wanted to get that out there. If you want to read a more serious M/M fic, try my other WIP, "Love on Any Terms."


	4. Chapter 4

_Part IV_

"You want me to do _wha_t?" Matthew asked in a harsh whisper, shocked through and through by Mary's very forward request. Of all the possibilities he had been prepared for, this was certainly not one of them.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He hadn't intended to reject her, exactly. He had merely expressed his surprise. He could see by the stricken look that crossed Mary's lovely face for a brief instant before she fixed her haughty mask firmly in place, that she had been wounded by his unthinking words. But who could blame him for being shocked?

She had asked him to become her lover in very much the same tone one would use when making a business proposition. Before he had been able to say anything at all to her initial statement of intent, she had gone on to innumerate several rules for their future intimate relationship. These ranged from ensuring her virginity remained in tact at all times, to the great need for secrecy and discretion in the timing and location of their trysts, to something as strange as her insistence that he shave closely as possible each morning, as she could never really know when the mood might strike her and she would be in need of his services. It was really all terribly odd, and he was beyond stunned.

As the shock began to fade, Matthew began to realize that Mary had just asked him to be her _lover_. Was that not exactly what he, himself, had been wishing for? or, at least, part of what he had been wishing for? It was certainly a good sign for the future of his suit. Mary was, of course, too stubborn to admit, even to herself, that she might have some feelings for him or some burgeoning regard. He would see this as a sign that her interested had been piqued, and a way to break through her defenses and get her to admit her feelings for him - to herself, first, then, eventually, to him.

_She wants me. Lady Mary Crawley, the woman of my dreams, wants __**me**__! Well damned if I'm not the luckiest bastard in Yorkshire! _

Mary was becoming both terribly embarrassed and increasingly worried. Matthew had been staring, open-mouthed, in her direction for several moments without speaking any further. She wondered if he was going into shock. At any rate, he clearly wasn't reacting the way she hoped he might have. Her face was becoming more and more flushed with mortification. Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea, after all.

"You know what, never mind," she retracted quickly. "Forget I ever asked. It was...stupid of me. What on earth was I thinking? Of course you wouldn't...I wouldn't...oh, I'll ring for Carson to collect your things, and we can just forget all about..."

Snapping out of his catatonic state, Matthew suddenly rushed across the room, seizing Mary's hand before it could reach the bell pull, and backed her up against the wall before she could react.

Mary was stunned by his sudden proximity. Daring to look up into his face, she saw it lit by a crooked smile, and she was briefly struck by his boyish good looks. He truly was a very desirable man, no matter how she tried to minimize his good qualities to herself.

Matthew cupped her sweet face in his hands reverently, stroking the softness of her cheeks with his thumbs before allowing his eyes to linger on her parted lips.

"Mary," he whispered, almost questioningly, begging permission from her with his penetrating gaze.

Seeing no sign of rejection, Matthew crushed his lips to hers with a deep groan, helpless against the unlooked-for bliss he had been offered that night.

Parting her soft lips with his, he savored her taste for the first time. Her mouth was sweetness itself. Mary's hands found their way to his strong shoulders, which she grasped as he swayed towards her, pressing her firmly against the wall with his sizable form.

Mary sighed deeply as Matthew probed her mouth with his slick tongue. She was so glad she had found the courage to do this. This was precisely what she needed. Excitement. Discovery. The thrill of the forbidden. It was incredible. To top it off, his large, masculine body felt perfect against hers. She could feel his strength and virility in every centimeter. Her hands longed to explore the new territory that she had laid claim to. They traced his masculine shape from his shoulders down over his wide chest and firm waist, down over his hips and the hard swell of his buttocks before making their way up his strong back under his jacket.

Matthew could scarcely contain his eagerness to lay claim to her charms. His mind was beginning to wrap around the idea that she had, essentially, given him permission to touch her - to touch her _intimately_. Slowly, torturously slowly, his hands moved up over her tiny waist to cup her small breasts through the thin fabric of her evening gown. They fit so perfectly into his palms! After several moments dedicated to learning the shape of her bosom as best he could with her corset restricting his progress, his hands traced the shape of her hips and trim thighs before firmly cupping her pert bottom, drawing her hips into his, letting her feel his arousal.

She was whimpering and gasping in his arms, grasping at his lapels to pull him impossibly closer as her teeth found the sensitive skin above his collar. She inhaled deeply of the musky aroma of his aftershave and his sweat, loving the sheer _maleness_ of his scent.

With a predatory growl, Matthew captured her gloved hands in both of his, pinning her arms above her head. Mary could only moan helplessly as he pushed a knee between her thighs, applying delicious pressure to her throbbing center. He gently encouraged her to move sensuously against him, whispering unspeakable things in her ear as he pushed against her.

Pressure was building up inside Mary's core. _Yes!_ This was it! This was what she had so wanted to experience again. Matthew was already better than she'd expected, if he could do this to her while they both remained fully clothed. Her knees buckled, and he steadied her with one strong arm around her waist, though his body never ceased its steady motion against hers. His manhood felt large and rock-solid pressing against her hip. Everything about him was hard and large, it seemed. Just thinking about it drove her to the brink. Matthew was obliged to shove his tongue down her throat to stifle her cries as she found bliss, though he would scarcely have thought to complain. The unfettered lust in her dark eyes as he drew back from the temptation of her mouth undid him, making him jizz in his trousers. It would be an uncomfortable walk home, but, God, was it worth it!

For several moments, they remained perfectly still as they gasped for breath.

Matthew had been with a handful of women during his university days, but never before had he experienced anything so intense. It wasn't just the release, but the deep connection they shared, that undid him. Her kisses touched his soul in a way no other's ever had or could. He loved her. He was in love with her. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back, knowing this wasn't love for her, not yet. What had her words on that fateful night been?

_Lust and the need for excitement. _

That's what this was about for her now, but he would soon change that. He would wear her down, bit by bit, until she succumbed.

"Start walking, or bicycling, here when you get off of work tomorrow," Mary purred as she smoothed her wrinkled skirt. "I'll meet you on the road."

"You may depend upon it," Matthew assured her, glancing down at his own attire to ensure nothing was terribly amiss. He was immensely grateful he had worn dark trousers that day.

"You'd better go before Carson starts wondering," Mary cautioned.

"Quite right," Matthew replied, though he made no move to leave her side.

He stared down at her for several more moments before even thinking of walking away from her. He wanted to cement the vision she presented into his memory for later perusal. Her delicate white skin was flushed from his touch, her lips swollen and wet. Best of all, her eyes were dark, so very dark, they were nearly black. She was a goddess.

Finally, Matthew inhaled deeply to steady himself against the torrent of emotion roiling within him, and bid Mary a good night.

"Goodnight, Cousin Matthew," Mary responded, surprising him greatly by offering him her hand to shake.

He chuckled in amusement at her gesture, but accepted her hand, feeling strangely like they were striking a business deal. He supposed that was her thought exactly. Well, he would certainly uphold his end of the contract, and happily so. He could almost burst with the anticipation of having her completely alone on the morrow, where he could discover some of what lay beneath that fashionably-dressed _Lady Mary_ facade.

Mary watched him stride confidently from the room, feeling empowered and blissfully sated. She wasn't sure her legs were steady enough to manage the stairs yet, so she dropped heavily onto the nearest sofa, where she remained for several minutes mulling over the events of the evening. She could scarcely wait for their assignation the next day. Her life had suddenly become a great deal more interesting. Mary had worried that Matthew might not know how to please a woman, at least not very proficiently, but she now suspected her fears were for naught. The next day would bring the final confirmation.

_Who knows, Matthew might just surprise me by being a better lover than the last one. Who would ever have thought? _

Mary fell asleep quickly that night, enveloped in the delicious lethargy of thoroughly sated desire.

* * *

Ready for more? I know M/M are! ;)

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Well, here it is folks. I must say, I'm blushing furiously as I post this. It may very well be the most explicit scene I've every written, and I'm a bit nervous about it. Hope you all have your fans in hand! _

_ Part V_

Matthew counted every tick of the second hand on his watch for the entirety of the the next day, unable to think of anything but Mary and their upcoming meeting. He had scarcely gotten any sleep the night before for thinking of Mary, and, when he had managed to fall asleep, his mind had tormented him with tantalizing dreams of Mary. He was half worried that she had changed her mind about their arrangement sometime during the day, that she may have come to her senses after he left her presence. He wasn't sure he could bear the disappointment if that turned out to be the case.

In addition to his anxiety regarding Mary's state of mind, Matthew spent a good deal of time recalling all the lessons he had received from his few dalliances on the intricacies of female pleasure. His most informative liaison had come in the form of a randy widow, ten years his senior, who worked in the library during his first year at Oxford. It hadn't ended well, either for him or the other unfortunate blokes she had ensnared with her womanly charms, but she had seemed to take almost as much pleasure from instructing him on how to please her as she took from the acts themselves. It had been several years since he had practiced any of what she had shown him, but he was fairly sure he could recall everything accurately enough to impress any woman, even Mary.

When the time finally came for him to shove off for the day, he nearly ran out of his office and towards Crawley House. The idea had come to him, in a brilliant moment of inspiration earlier that day, to pack a light picnic - with only enough food for an afternoon snack for one, so as not to arouse his mother's suspicion- and claim to have a sudden desire for some outdoor solitude in which to read for an hour or two. It seemed a great deal of trouble to go to simply for the use of a blanket, but he hoped Mary would appreciate his effort, and discretion.

He set off down the road to the Abbey at a brisk pace, his eyes searching the horizon for any sign of his paramour. He could scarcely believe this was happening. It seemed like a dream. He wanted Mary so badly, his breath quickened at the very thought of her, of what she had asked of him.

At last, her pleasing form came into view, and they greeted each other with the usual pleasantries, however out of place such politeness seemed. Matthew offered her his arm, which she took, and began to lead her away from the road, out onto the estate's lovely grounds. He surveyed the area for the ideal spot for their tryst, finding it in the shade of a gnarled old oak tree. He glanced at Mary for approval, and she nodded regally, releasing his arm as they neared their chosen spot.

Matthew's hands trembled embarrassingly as he spread the blanket over the cool grass under the shade of the massive oak tree, the anticipation of what they were about to do coursing through him, making his skin dampen under his clothing. Mary, on the other hand, appeared as poised and composed as ever, and this only added to his jitters.

Their eyes met in silent agreement, as both began ridding themselves of unnecessary garments - jackets, hats, gloves, tie - placing them in neat piles on the ground beside the blanket. Mary, displaying a calm demeanor she didn't feel, was the first to move, gracefully arranging herself on the blanket with her legs crossed in front of her, supporting her weight on her hands. Matthew lowered himself beside her, his eyes zeroing in on her fine ankles as they had become uncovered when she sat.

They were perfect. Tiny. Delicate. So very feminine. His fingers traced the fragile bones of first one, then the other, before his warm hand wrapped entirely around one dainty joint. Matthew groaned appreciatively as his long fingers closed completely around her trim ankle, and he could no longer stop himself from lifting it to his lips for several reverent kisses and a gentle nip.

Mary gasped as she felt his hot breath through the silk of her stocking, her desire wetting her thin undergarments. His hands felt magical, and they had yet to touch her bare skin. It was a heady thing to have such a handsome and proud man seemingly worshipping at her feet, and Mary was drinking in every second of the experience.

Matthew carefully slipped each of her small shoes from her stocking-clad feet before bending low to bestow a soft kiss on the top of each. When he raised himself once more to a sitting position by her feet, he placed one delicate extremity in his lap, his fingers tracing each fragile bone, fleetingly tickling her high arches. He wasn't sure what it was about her tiny feet that inflamed him so, but his arousal was straining against the buttons of his trousers already.

When the captive foot began making its way up his thigh to, eventually, trace the shape of him through his tented trousers, he was nearly undone. He could only close his eyes and release a helpless groan, hoping and praying that he wouldn't embarrass himself by emitting in his trousers at so slight provocation as the touch of her big toe.

Mary laughed flirtatiously, delighted by his obvious reaction. She was eager to see and touch what her toes were discovering lay under his clothing, and she was ready for his touch on other areas of her body. Her feet had monopolized the privilege for long enough.

"I hope you weren't under the impression that I invited you out here to massage my feet," Mary chided, batting her eyelashes coquettishly as she began to draw her skirt slowly upwards, revealing her long, shapely legs, inch by inch, for his perusal.

Matthew's fingers soon followed the path her hem took up her gorgeous, long legs until she stopped when her garters, and the creamy skin above them, came into view.

Mary smiled wickedly at the stupid grin plastered on Matthew's face as he gaped at her. He was nearly drooling. She felt powerful and desirable, and that made her brave. Lying on her back and bending her knees slightly, she opened her arms, inviting him, with parted lips, to kiss her.

Snapping out of his awed haze, Matthew pressed his body onto hers, and both groaned at the beautiful intimacy of their novel position. For several minutes, his mouth made love to hers, his tongue caressing and tangling with hers. As his fingers began frantically working the buttons of her blouse, his lips began tracing a similar path down over her defined collar bones to her breastbone, until they met with the covering of her thin camisole. His warm hand cupped her breast through the flimsy garment, causing her to cry out in unrestrained pleasure at his touch.

Matthew spent endless moments enjoying her softness under his hands. He wanted to see her, but feared embarrassing himself horribly if he did. He was nearly on the brink of release as it was.

Disliking the slow pace he was moving at, Mary hooked her leg around Matthew's hip, pushing up against his bulge. Unsurprisingly, this earned her a rather violent positive reaction from her lover. Before she knew it, the cool afternoon breeze tickled her bare nipples, bringing them to attention. She grasped and pulled at Matthew's thick hair as his lips, tongue, and teeth worshipped her twin buds, unable to process the amount of sheer pleasure he was giving her. Kamal had briefly done something similar, but Matthew was, shockingly, nearly driving her to release by pleasuring her breasts alone.

"Matthew, please!" she begged, her body crying out for more contact with his.

Her hands pulled eagerly at his shirt, untucking it from his waistband and slipping underneath where she felt his skin for the first time. His back was broad and smooth, and she could feel the movement of each corded muscle as his hands moved over her body. His mouth returned to hers, and she suckled his tongue eagerly, ready for more. Oh, so much more!

Removing her hands from beneath his shirt, Mary pushed Matthew away from her body just enough to shimmy her knickers down her legs, kicking them away into the grass. Capturing one of his exploring hands, she guided it beneath her skirt, where she wanted his touch most.

Matthew growled as his fingers touched her wet center. She was already soaked, and he slipped one finger easily inside her small opening. Mary cried out at the new sensation. He had touched a spot inside her she hadn't previously known about, and she pushed against his hand, wanting to feel more. Knowing he couldn't please her as he was doing for much longer without disrupting her maidenhead, Matthew withdrew his hand, instantly bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste her sweet essence. Never in his life had he tasted anything more perfect. The exotic aroma of her desire beckoned to him, and he looked intently into her eyes, seeking her approval to please her as he so wished to.

"Please,"she whispered quietly, and he quickly made to oblige her.

Mary covered her face in embarrassment as he pushed her knees apart. She could practically feel his eyes on her most intimate area, and she was sure every inch of her was deep crimson with a mix of shame and desire. Somehow, the fact that her eyes were closed made the moment his tongue touched her pleasure center for the first time even more intense.

Matthew was in awe. She was absolutely perfect, every inch of her. Her breasts were perfect palmfuls with small pink tips like little rosebuds that pebbled under his touch. He found himself captivated by the perfect treasure that lay between her supple thighs. Soft chestnut curls framed her glistening pink nether-lips so sweetly. She was small and hot and tight and perfect. So, so perfect! More than anything, he wished to rend the buttons of his trousers and shove his aching cock inside her, marking her and claiming her for his own. Unable to do as he truly wished, Matthew indulged his second-greatest desire, bending to touch his tongue lightly to her swollen nub.

He smiled smugly as Mary's body jolted under the slight touch, determined to see that beautiful look of bliss that he had seen on her darling face the previous evening when he had made her cum in the library. Lowering his mouth over her again, he probed her wet entrance with his tongue, tasting the unique, tart essence that was only Mary's.

Mary's fingers tangled in his golden hair as she rocked her hips against his mouth, relishing the heat of his breath and the slickness of his tongue on her most sensitive area. Wrapping her legs around his shoulders, she held him there, moaning softly in pleasure as he gently scraped his teeth over her nub. When his finger slipped back into her begging quim, she shuddered, a powerful release building inside her.

"Oh, God, Matthew!" she cried, prompting him to groan deeply against her.

The vibration pushed her over the edge. Her back arched deeply, and Matthew had to hold her hips firmly in place to keep her under him.

He looked up at her as she rode out the last pulsing waves of her pleasure. She was enchanting, back bowed in ecstasy; legs lolling open, revealing her secrets; sweet breasts exposed to the dappled sunlight. It was an image that would haunt his dreams until he drew his final breath.

Unable to resist, he pulled himself over her, fitting his hips into the cradle of her thighs. How perfectly they fit together! Like two halves of a whole entity. Matthew's tongue pushed into her open mouth, shocking her with the newness of her own intimate flavor.

Desire rising inside her anew, Mary rubbed her still-throbbing quim against his arousal, causing him to emit a strangled sob. She wanted to see him, touch him. She wanted it badly.

Pushing gently on his chest, Mary encouraged Matthew to lie on his back. Her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, pushing it as far up his torso as it would go. Next, her fingers went to work on his trousers and undergarments, revealing an enticing trail of dark blonde hair that led to...

"Oh, Mary, please!" he begged as he realized her intention. His arousal was becoming nearly painfully intense, and he desperately longed for her touch.

With fingers hooked under his waistband, she pulled the unwanted clothing over his hips, freeing him for her inspection.

"_Mmm."_

Her appreciative hum made Matthew squirm in anticipation, his fingers fisting in the fabric of her skirt. He watched her face as she studied him, the unmasked lust in her gaze inflaming him further.

He was perfect, and Mary was in awe. His manhood was longer, and thicker, than Kamal's hand been, and oh, so perfect. His entire form was perfect in her eyes. He was the epitome of masculine beauty - luminous blue eyes watching her beseechingly; fair hair tussled and unruly; his body - the perfect example of masculinity.

Her fingers began their exploration at the sweet trail of fair hairs that ran down his belly. Gooseflesh spread over his pale skin at her light touch. She leaned down to kiss his naval, breathing deeply of his delicious scent.

Mary found herself quite captivated by his belly. It was flat, but soft, and she couldn't help resting her cheek on it for a moment. He felt like a warm pillow. She turned her face to plant several kisses and nips along his abdomen, deciding that this was her favorite part of him.

Matthew's fingers began to slip into her carefully-arranged hair, and she quickly swatted them away.

"Don't touch my hair," she chided him. "I don't think I would be able to repair it satisfactorily."

Undeterred, his hand moved to the side of her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her swollen lips, dipping in to brush against her tongue.

"_Please_, Mary," he whispered once more before lying back and turning his eyes up to the cloudless sky, awaiting her touch.

Unable to resist a moment longer, Mary bent to place a soft kiss on his swollen tip, licking the salty pearl of moisture she found there.

"_Yes, darling, please!" _

Mary loved that he was begging for her to pleasure him. It was sweet revenge. Perhaps she wouldn't give him what he wanted. Perhaps she could tease him some more, then simply right her clothing and walk away. The thought did have some merit, but it was for her own pleasure that she decided to continue.

As her lips wrapped around his thickness, Mary soon discovered that Matthew became quite vocal when receiving pleasure. He moaned her name repeatedly, and pled for her not to stop, interspersed with several wordless vocalizations of enjoyment.

"_Oh, fuck, yes!" _he cried as his hips began pushing up against her, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

Mary raised her eyebrows at his expletive. That was one she hadn't heard before, but for some reason the sound of it made her private area clench.

Soon, her mouth was flooded with his essence, and she swallowed instinctively, not wanting to allow one drop of his sweet ambrosia to escape. She loved his taste, and the knowledge that she had pleased him. That wasn't a thought she cared to analyze too closely. She had never been meant to care a fig for Matthew's pleasure, but her heart sang to see the blissful smile on his face as he came slowly down from the summit of bliss to which she had brought him.

Mary, licking the corners of her mouth clean, crossed her hands on his heaving chest and rested her chin upon them to study his face. He was beautiful. How had she not seen it before? He was more than simply handsome. His incredibly blue eyes opened, and he smiled at her, causing a discomforting reaction in the pit of her stomach, and a strange swelling in her chest. Mary quickly raised herself from him, confused and agitated by the unwanted feelings stirring inside her. Hoping to restore some sense of normalcy, she began righting her clothes, her calm mask firmly back in place.

Matthew sighed contentedly, and pulled himself into a sitting position, reluctantly returning his own clothes to their previous state. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so wondrously happy. Mary had made him happy. So very, very happy. She had responded to him so sweetly, then saw to his pleasure so thoughtfully and generously. She had even gazed at him with affection after everything was over, he was sure of it. Mary was _his_ girl now. His beautiful, passionate, darling girl.

"Would you care for some biscuits and lemonade?" he asked, remembering the picnic he had packed, and hoping to buy some more time with her.

A thousand warning signals were going off in Mary's head. She had to get away from him. Being friends with him had never been part of the bargain, and she feared where such an error in judgement might lead.

"No, thank you, Cousin Matthew," she responded in her usual haughty tone. "Someone will have missed me by now. I really must be getting home."

Matthew jumped up when she rose to her feet, loathe to allow her to leave his presence, and wondering at what point he had become _Cousin_ Matthew again.

"Won't you allow me to walk with you?" he asked, somewhat desperately.

"No, thank you," Mary dismissed him with a cold nod of her head. "I'll see you tomorrow at dinner."

With that, she turned and sauntered gracefully away as if nothing unusual had occurred, leaving an open-mouthed, bereft Matthew behind.


	6. Chapter 6

_Part VI_

It was unfortunate for Matthew that he had an appointment to look over the cottages with Lord Grantham the very next day, as it was going to be impossible to look his new friend and mentor in the face after what he had done with the man's daughter only twenty-four hours previous. He was worried that his cousin would see it written all over his face and would...challenge him to a duel, or whatever it was the upper classes did when they felt their honor had been besmirched. Fortunately, Lord Grantham attributed Matthew's distraction to the pressures of his new life, and, therefore, paid it no mind.

Afterwards, Matthew's nerves switched focus to the upcoming dinner engagement at the Abbey. He would have to face Mary again. After all they had done. After all they _hadn't_ done - meaning progressing any further with their non-physical relationship, as he would have wished. After she had walked away from him so cooly and so soon after... And he had absolutely no idea what to expect from her upon their next meeting. What if he hadn't met her expectations? Would she still want him? Would she even speak to him? look at him? What if she hated him?

The turmoil in Matthew's mind was so great that, had he not decided to start accepting Mosley's assistance, he might have arrived at the Abbey for dinner only to realize he had forgotten to put on his pants, or some other important article of clothing. He wondered if Mary was as nervous as he was. No, of course she wouldn't be. Mary would never stoop to become nervous about anything, let alone seeing the likes of _him_.

* * *

Mary paced the carpet of her room, nearly frantic with nervousness for the upcoming dinner. She would see Matthew for the first time after they... after _she_...

_Oh God, how am I ever going to face him in public? My face is sure to be as red as the sofa in the library! _

What if he regretted what they had done? Or worse, what if he felt obligated to - God forbid! - propose to her after what they had done? It would be just like her priggish cousin to do something so _expected_. She shuddered with disgust at the mere thought of that hated word. No matter how handsome he was, or how clever, or how fine a lover he was, she could never marry Matthew. It was too _neat_, too tidy. She would please far too many people by marrying him. She cared only to please herself. She had said as much to her father, who, once again, had the audacity to suggest that she might end all her troubles by marrying her middle-class upstart of a cousin.

_Oh, sure, Papa. I'll just...do what everybody else wants me to do. What I want and what I deserve clearly don't signify. _

Mary purposely chose one of her least favorite, and rarely worn, dresses for the night. It was brown. Not her most flattering color, and definitely not her favorite. She certainly couldn't explain why her mother had chosen the material for her. She wouldn't want Matthew getting the idea that she had put forth any effort for his sake. Of course, she couldn't possibly care less what he thought of her appearance. No, of course, she didn't.

By the time Mary entered the drawing room, Matthew and Isobel had already been shown in.

"Mary, there you are," her mother greeted her in a mildly reproachful tone. "I was wondering what was taking you so long. Is Sybil behind you?"

"No. She's still getting dressed. Tonight's the grand unveiling of the new frock she's been going on about," Mary answered, her petulant mood showing in her tone.

Mary seated herself comfortably in the first available chair. She hadn't yet found the courage to glance in Matthew's direction, but she could feel his eyes boring into her nonetheless. Her palms dampened under her gloves.

Seated on the opposite side of the room, Matthew had an unobstructed view of his beautiful cousin, now lover. She looked utterly enchanting in a dress he had not yet seen her in. As was true of all her dresses, it flattered her figure well, and she looked utterly stunning. He wondered if she had made an extra effort to look well for him, even going so far as to wear a dress she knew he hadn't seen yet.

Suddenly, Sybil burst into the room wearing the infamous new frock, which was what looked to Matthew to be a skirt that had been split down the middle and tapered around the ankles, like a strange pair of puffy, feminine trousers. He had to try hard not to laugh openly at the spectacle. He had never seen the like.

Mary spared only a moment's glance for Sybil's strange new frock before her eyes locked on Matthew's face. She didn't like the way he was staring at Sybil's legs. She refused to wonder _why_ she cared. She simply _did_ care, and decided that she was angry with him for it. Yes, it was good to be angry with him. When she was angry, there was no room for dangerous, unwanted feelings of tenderness or the treacherous softening of her regard for him that she had been trying desperately to quash. She would have to have him please her again, and soon. This time, she truly didn't give a hoot about his desires. She would have her pleasure, then be done with him. It was probably still more than he deserved, anyway.

When the time came for the party to move to the dining room, Mary was annoyed to find Matthew suddenly by her side, offering her his arm.

"Mary, would you allow me to escort you?" he asked politely.

Mary hesitated for a moment, wanting to decline, but knowing that to do so would draw more unwanted attention from her family than simply accepting would. Her anger at him grew. It didn't help that his eyes were burning with desire as they moved over her. She was certain he was trying to look down the neckline of her gown. Hadn't she chosen that particular dress to avoid his notice? Could he possibly be more disobliging?

_Or more deliciously, utterly, devastatingly handsome in his formal dinner attire? _

The cut of the shorter dinner jacket flattered his shape impeccably. Suddenly, she felt hungrier for him than she did for supper. She was still angry with him, naturally. He had still stared at Sybil's legs for longer than he ought. His eyes were for her and her alone, and she thought he needed to be reminded of the fact.

Smiling beguilingly, Mary wrapped her gloved hands around his proffered arm, though she remained standing firmly in place until the room had been vacated by all inhabitants save themselves. As soon as they were alone, Mary forcefully pushed Matthew against the wall, pressing her lips to his in a bruising kiss. Her hand moved between his legs and grasped his bollocks - hard.

"Gah! Mary...that...hurts..." he winced.

"I saw you looking at Sybil's legs earlier. Don't try to deny it!" she accused, adding a slight twist to her punishment.

"Aaaahhhhh! Mary...you know I didn't...mean it...that way...It was...funny...please!"

"Very well," Mary relented, releasing him.

Poor Matthew nearly doubled over, but Mary caught him in her arms, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Ssshhh," she soothed, rubbing his back in comforting motions. "It's alright. I'll make it better."

He jumped when her hand brushed his groin again, but, this time, she petted and stroked him gently until he was no longer in pain, but fully aroused.

"There," she smiled, pleased with herself. "All better?"

"Well, not quite," Matthew grumbled, agitated that he would have to walk into dinner in such a state. The mischievous gleam in Mary's eye assured him that this was merely the second stage of her revenge for his imagined misstep.

Mary continued exacting her vengeance at dinner. She had been pleased to see that the only two seats still available were side by side. She quickly made up some excuse about needing to ask Matthew about his progress on the cottages to explain their tardiness. Nobody questioned them further, knowing how things stood between the two cousins. The thought that something remotely improper could ever occur between those two never entered anyone's head, which suited Mary's purposes quite well.

She tortured her handsome thrall throughout the meal with little gestures that went unnoticed by all but him. Her hands would often wander, hidden by the edge of the tablecloth, up his thigh and over his bulge. Her foot frequently brushed against his, and once ventured under the leg of his trousers to briefly stroke his calf. She gazed pointedly into his eyes before taking a bite of chocolate mousse. Here she hit him with a barrage of attacks. There was the small smudge of the creamy desert that she allowed to remain on her lower lip. There was also the deep moan of pleasure she emitted as she licked the remaining mousse from her spoon. Finally she stared into his eyes as she licked her lips clean of all remaining chocolate, leaving him nearly drooling into his own desert with his hunger for the incomparable sweetness of her mouth. When it came time for the ladies to return to the drawing room, he had scarcely touched his desert.

Mary shot him a smug look as she rose to leave, knowing he would now have to sit and make conversation with her father for a quarter hour, fully aroused and flustered as he was. Matthew cringed. She was killing him.

Back in the drawing room, Mary sat quietly, wondering how she was going to finagle some alone time with Matthew. She wouldn't need much, just enough time for him to pleasure her and return to the party. He had certainly been efficient about it the first time...against the wall...in the library...

When the gentlemen entered, Mary's eyes immediately sought Matthew. He was so very, very handsome, and his eyes were nearly burning with need for her. She laughed to herself briefly as she solidified her plans in her mind. Matthew would be needing her for a long, long time yet.

Rising from her place on the settee, she made her way over to where Matthew was still standing.

"Cousin Matthew," she began, threading her arm through his, "remember what we were discussing the other day...about the...erh...Crawley family tree?"

Matthew was confused, at first, but soon caught on to her game.

"Oh...oh, yes, of course, _Cousin_ Mary," he responded. "Have you found any further information on the topic?"

"Actually, yes, I have," Mary responded cooly. "If you would accompany me to the library, I would be more than happy to show you."

"Of course," he eagerly accepted, nearly shaking with anticipation. "If you all will excuse us." He bowed slightly to the room, before leading Mary out into the hall and towards the library.

As soon as the library door clicked shut behind them, he had Mary pressed against it, his lips crashing down on hers. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss for only a moment before turning away.

"I don't want my face to be all red when I return. They'll know," she explained.

"Quite right," Matthew agreed, already occupied with gathering her skirts around her hips. He groaned at the sight of her black stockings and garter belt that framed her tiny, lacy white knickers. "You're fucking beautiful, Mary," he whispered hoarsely.

"What does that mean?" she asked breathlessly as he lifted her legs to wrap around his waist.

"I'll show you some day," he promised as he ground his hips against hers, pressing his aching manhood against her throbbing center.

"Use your hand," Mary ordered, pressing one of his hands for emphasis.

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He pushed aside her meager lacy covering to reach her moist folds, his fingers immediately parting her to sink into her warm depths. His thumb found her clitoris, and began massaging it in quick, circular motions as his middle finger moved slowly in and out of her wet core.

Mary gasped and trembled under his ministrations. She knew it wouldn't take long. His fingers were so skilled. He seemed to know exactly what to do - where to touch, how to touch, exactly how much pressure to apply to which areas - to take her straight over the edge. In addition, his lovely blue eyes were absolutely captivating when hooded with desire, as they were then. She loved how strong he was. Her weight was nearly entirely supported with only one of his hands under her bottom. Her hands caressed his chest through his shirtfront as he worked her into a frenzy of pleasure, one final touch tipping her over the edge.

She pressed her lips to that delicious spot just under his ear to muffle her satisfied moan. For several moments, she simply held herself against him as she caught her breath. His scent was intoxicating. It made her want him even more than she had before he pleasured her. Giving in to one last temptation, she traced her tongue from his ear lobe to his jaw, tasting the salt of his sweat. He was trembling and sweating, and all because of her. That alone was satisfaction enough for Mary, at least for the moment.

Forcing her unsteady legs to support her, Mary smoothed her dress and checked her hair, hoping that nothing would appear amiss when she reentered the drawing room. Her progress was hindered by Matthew's hands as they began caressing her waist and breasts. His lips devoured the graceful column of her neck.

"Open my trousers and touch me, Mary," he instructed, taking a cue from her earlier manner. It had never occurred to him that Mary had decided that she was the one giving the orders, never receiving them.

"What?" she responded in disbelief, as though it was absurd that he would even ask. "Matthew, we haven't the time. They'll be sending a search party for us soon."

"But...but...Mary, I can't go back in there like _this_." He gestured to the obvious tent in his pants.

Mary pretended to study him thoughtfully for several moments before speaking.

"Hmm...you're absolutely right. You can't go back in there."

"Thank you. So..."

"So, the walk home in the cool evening air will do you good. I'll make your excuses."

With that, she rose up on her toes for a quick peck on the lips before opening the library door and sauntering casually out into the hall.

"Goodnight, Cousin Matthew," she called over her shoulder. "It's been a pleasure."

Matthew stood, astonished and fuming, in the library doorway for several minutes before striding angrily, and awkwardly, considering his uncomfortable state, to the front door. He wasn't sure what game Mary was playing, but she certainly didn't play fair.

* * *

**A/N: **I had so much fun writing this chapter. Poor sweet Matthew. :)

I wrote this whole chapter in one hour then immediately posted, so there are bound to be some mistakes, which I apologize for.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

_Part VII_

Mary strode back into the drawing room sporting a triumphant grin. She felt that she had just won a small victory over...well, not so much over Matthew himself, but over her situation in general. She wasn't so daft as to believe that Matthew was personally responsible for her discontent, but he did serve as the tangible representation of the abstract concept that she despised. Taking her frustration out on her handsome punching bag had felt almost too good.

When the time came to retire to bed, however, Mary's mood took a rather sharp turn. She was horrified. What had she done? She had been abominably cruel to Matthew, and she wouldn't blame him if he never spoke another word to her. To think of the poor darling walking home alone in the cold night air, feeling unsatisfied and rejected! She wished he were there at that very moment so she could make it up to him.

She recalled his face after she had pleasured him outside under the shady oak. His face...it had been so very, very beautiful. And he had been so kind, so considerate of her needs. What if he decided he wanted out of their arrangement? It would probably serve her right after the way she had treated him. The thought of never touching him again...never seeing that darling look on his face...she simply couldn't bear it.

It was well after midnight when Mary flung herself from her warm bed and rushed to find pen and paper. She would write to him, apologizing for her cruelty and promising to make it up to him as soon as possible. After hurriedly signing and sealing her hastily-penned letter, Mary placed it in the salver for outgoing mail, then returned to her bed. Only then, was sleep able to claim her.

* * *

Matthew was reluctant to leave the comfort of his bed the next morning. He had passed a torturous night of painfully arousing, yet unfulfilling, dreams of Mary. Even in sleep, he hadn't been allowed to forget.

He kept telling himself that Mary had only been playing some sort of flirtatious game with him the previous evening, that she hadn't done what she had to be intentionally cruel. His better judgement wouldn't allow him to take comfort in the notion for long. No, Mary _had_ been intentionally cruel to him, then dismissed him from her presence as if he had been merely a servant, a slave, that she could use and cast off at will. Of course, that's all he was to her. Mary hated him. She always had. No matter how beautiful and powerful what had passed between them had been, it wasn't enough to change her opinion of him. Perhaps it had only been meaningful to him. To her, it had been only a dalliance, a physical act to satisfy the body's baser needs, and nothing more. He had gone into their arrangement already knowing this to be true, but the vivid and unmistakable reminder of how things truly stood between them had cut him deeply, all the same.

As he rose and dressed for the day, forgoing Mosley's assistance in favor of solitary contemplation, Matthew struggled with himself over what he was to do next. He wouldn't have the slightest idea how to behave around Mary after what had transpired between them. Part of him wanted to go immediately to the Abbey and give her a piece of his mind. She wasn't so high and mighty that she could use him for her pleasure then give him the brush-off when she was satisfied. He knew he couldn't allow her to treat him that way, yet the thought of ending what they had so newly began was almost physically painful to him. He wished there was still a chance that things could move forward for them, but he couldn't see how.

Matthew dragged his feet all the way down to their small dining room for a breakfast he didn't have any appetite for. He wasn't sure he could hide his dour mood from his perceptive mother, and groaned internally in anticipation of the questioning he was to receive.

"Good morning, Matthew," Isobel greeted him cheerfully.

"Morning," Matthew muttered in reply, hardly able to stand looking at his mother's smiling face. It seemed wrong that anyone should be so cheerful after what had happened to him only last night.

"You seem rather down this morning, my dear. I hope you aren't falling ill. Mary told us you had a sudden headache, and decided to walk home last night."

Matthew laughed ruefully at the mention of Mary's name.

"No, Mother, I didn't have a headache, and I am perfectly well."

"Then what's troubling you?" Isobel asked, worried for her tenderhearted son. She had been worried ever since she began to detect Matthew's growing attachment to his cold and haughty cousin, who made her disdain for him all too clear. It had appeared that the two were forming somewhat of a friendship, but she worried that she had been wrong. "Did you quarrel with Mary after the two of you took off to the library last evening?"

"I suppose you could call it that," he answered cryptically.

Matthew had managed to force half a piece of buttered toast and several sips of black coffee down his throat by the time Mosley entered with his newspaper.

"There's also a letter for you, Sir, from the big house."

Matthew took the letter Mosley proffered, expecting to see Robert's bold, masculine script. The delicate, feminine hand he beheld instead threw him into a state of confusion for several moments, and he sat gaping at the letter as though it were some kind of grand anomaly.

_It couldn't be from... Could it? _

Suddenly, he was dashing from the room, tearing open the envelope to get to the letter, hope tugging at his heart. His eyes immediately went to the signature at the bottom of the page. It was from Mary! His heart swelled with delight as he began to read:

_**Dearest Matthew, **_

_Not _Cousin_ Matthew, but _Dearest_ Matthew! _

_**I cannot begin to express to you how sorry I am for the cruel way in which I treated you tonight. **_

Mary was apologizing...to him? It must have taken a great deal for her to write those words. _She must be truly remorseful!_

_**I cannot think of it without abhorrence.* I won't blame you if you never wish to see my face again, **_

_Impossible!_

_**but, if you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I will be waiting under our tree**_

_**for you at four o'clock this afternoon.**_

The thought of Mary waiting for him under _their_ tree sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through him. How he wished four o'clock wasn't so impossibly far away!

_**I hope you'll come, so that I may have the chance to make it up to you. **_

_**Yours, **_

_**Mary**_

Mary felt sorry that she had treated him poorly. Mary had called him _dearest Matthew._ Mary wished to make it up to him. The heaviness that had begun Matthew's day was lifted the moment her words ministered to him from the page. He knew he must be grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't bring himself to care, at the moment. Four o'clock would never come soon enough!

"Matthew, what is it?" Isobel called from the dining room.

"It's nothing Mother," he called back. "I have an...appointment to go to the Abbey after work, so expect me home late."

"Very well, dear," his mother answered back. "If you happen to see Mary, do try to mend things with her. All this fighting between the two of you will do nobody any good, yourselves least of all."

"You're absolutely right, Mother. I promise, I'll do all I can."

* * *

Mary awoke, well into the morning, with a start.

_The letter! Oh, God, what on earth was I thinking. _Darling _Matthew? Gah! _

Flinging herself from the bed with frantic haste, Mary rang the bell pull, summoning Anna.

"Good morning, milady," the maid greeted her cheerfully a moment later.

Mary grasped Anna by her narrow shoulders, looking into her eyes beseechingly.

"Oh, Anna, tell me the morning post hasn't been sent out yet! _Please_ tell me it hasn't!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary, but the post went out over two hours ago. Why? Is anything amiss?" Anna replied.

Mary dropped her hands to her sides in defeat, mortified that Matthew had probably already read her foolish letter.

"No, Anna. I'm sorry if I alarmed you. I'll take my breakfast on a tray this morning, I think."

"Yes, milady." Anna bobbed a curtsey, and left Mary alone with her tangled thoughts.

She couldn't believe that she had, in a moment of great and lamentable weakness, written that stupid letter to Matthew. What on earth had possessed her to do it? Lady Mary Crawley didn't apologize to middle-class lawyers who had the audacity to swoop in and steal her fortune, her home, and her father's affection away from her. To top it off, she had invited him to meet with her later that afternoon so that she could _make it up to him._ Whatever madness that had made her think that there was anything she needed to _make up to him_ the night before had long passed. He was getting everything that was rightfully hers. It was only fair that he do what he could to serve her. The audacity of the man, that he would _expect_ her to return the favor! She would reciprocate only if and when it suited her, and he had better keep that in mind if he ever wanted the privilege of kissing or touching her again.

It would have been so much easier if she felt that she could get over her desire for him, but she knew she would not.

_Oh, Mary, don't dwell on _that _thought for too long. It can lead nowhere good. _

She would have to meet him, then. It was the only way to maintain what they had discovered together. He would probably want to discuss her blasted letter. Well, that was just too bad, then, because she would deny ever sending such a letter if he brought it up. No, she would have to distract him, somehow, before he even got a chance to question her.

_But, how?_

Mary sauntered casually over to her wardrobe, opening drawers until she found the one in which Anna had neatly folded her undergarments. She looked through dozens of pairs of silk stockings, garter belts, knickers ranging from silky and modest to tiny and risque, camisoles...she found her corsets hanging with her gowns. Standing back to look over the assortment before her, a bright pop of color caught Mary's eye.

_Perfect. _

Matthew didn't stand a chance.

* * *

*I borrowed a few words from Jane Austen, here. Mr. Darcy says something similar about some less than stellar behavior towards Elizabeth in Pride & Prejudice.

**A/N: **It's short, I know, but I'm setting you up for some more fun. ;)

Thanks so much for all the reviews! I appreciate each and every one.


	8. Chapter 8

_Part VIII_

Matthew couldn't seem to pedal fast enough as he flew through town on his bicycle that afternoon. He had left work a quarter-hour early to be on time for his rendezvous with Mary, but not before reading her note for about the hundredth time that day. He had kept it tucked in the inner breast pocket of his jacket at work, just over his heart, where Mary had taken up permanent residence. He grew more elated each time he took it out to read it, her sweet words making his heart soar. Mary certainly seemed to have some affection for him, at least. She may even be well on her way to loving him already. It seemed far too good to be true, but her words, so beautifully consigned to the page, reassured him with each glance. He could scarcely wait to see her.

The ride took entirely too long, but, after several minutes of pedaling through the grass, their tree came into view. He could see Mary's slight form leaning against it, dressed in the same long blue skirt and white blouse he had seen her wear on several occasions. She looked alluring, as she always did. He pedaled even faster to reach her.

Mary took several calming breaths as Matthew's form came into view. She would have to act quickly for her plan to work, and she was, unexpectedly, a bit nervous. She wasn't sure how he would greet her, or what he would expect from her. For all she knew, he might still be angry. That worry didn't last long, as she could see his wide smile from several yards away. Despite herself, she felt a smile of her own pulling at the corners of her mouth. He looked so charming and boyish, riding swiftly up to her on his silly bicycle, flashing a toothy grin. She couldn't help but smile back. This was a new development for her, but she decided not to think about it until later.

A few feet in front of her, Matthew threw down his bike and jogged the rest of the way, immediately catching her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground, into a crushing hug.

"Oh, my darling, darling girl!" he whispered breathlessly in her ear. "I've been wanting to see you all day. I've thought of nothing else."

Mary shivered as his warm breath tickled her ear, and he pressed several feathery kisses over her ear, neck, and jaw.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he asked, placing her back on her feet, but keeping his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

Not trusting herself to speak at all without reprimanding him for his unwanted, if charming, endearments, Mary simply pressed her lips to his, silencing him. Deciding that the time for her planned distraction had come, she began dexterously unbuttoning her blouse.

Matthew kissed her back for several moments, immensely gratified that she had been too anxious to kiss him to even answer his question. He could feel her hands moving between them, and looked down to see her opening her blouse. His eyes instantly locked on each button as it released, drinking in the newly-revealed skin and feminine undergarments. His hands eagerly moved to assist her in untucking the blouse from the waistband of her skirt. His fingers grazed lightly over her skin as he pushed the fabric eagerly down her arms. Her creamy neck and shoulders were immediately covered with kisses, as his hands moved to cup her breasts through the sheer lace of her camisole. They were pushed high by her corset, and he could see the duskiness of her hardened tips under the material.

While he was thus distracted, Mary's hands moved behind her to unbutton her skirt. The fabric floated to the ground, and suddenly Matthew's hands stilled over her chest. He let out a fierce growl as he took in her appearance.

"Good God, Mary! You're stunning!" he exclaimed as his hands traced the feminine shape of her to firmly caress her hips. "You would bring any man to his knees."

Matthew stared at her in awe, surprised he was able to speak coherently at all, yet unable to find words he thought adequate to praise her beauty. She stood before him clad in a white corset with a sheer lace camisole underneath. Tiny knickers of matching sheer lace barely covered her secrets, and below them she wore...red stockings! Matthew had never seen stockings that color before. She looked irresistibly sensual in them. They were deep red, like the sun passing through a glass of wine.

Mary smiled seductively up at him as she gloried in his obvious undoing at her hands. The distraction had certainly worked, perhaps even better than she had expected. His words of praise provoked in her that heady feeling of power and control that had made her crave this experience in the first place.

It was unclear who moved first, but they found themselves locked in a heated embrace, mouths open and tongues dueling fiercely as hands roamed freely. Mary managed to pry Matthew's hands from her body long enough to slip his jacket and vest over his shoulders. When his hands were, once again, free to explore her tempting curves, they slipped under the lace of her knickers as he cupped her rounded bottom with both hands, grinding her hips against his. Mary moaned as his hardness pressed against her center. Her hands trembled as they made short work of his tie and the buttons of his shirt. She caressed his bare chest for the first time, enjoying the firm feel of it. She ran her fingers through the soft smattering of blond hair she found there, glorying in his masculine beauty. Her lips followed her hands, and her tongue darted out to tease one flat nipple as her fingers stroked the other.

"Mary, I want you," he gasped, burying his face in her fragrant hair.

"Blanket," Mary prompted, pulling reluctantly away from him so that he could retrieve the blanket he had brought on their last rendezvous from the hollow root he had stowed it under.

Shaking the dirt quickly from the blanket, Matthew spread it over the cool grass then sank to his knees, holding his hands out to Mary, inviting her to join him.

Mary made her way towards him with tantalizing slowness, purposely swaying her hips, which were level with his eyes, as she moved.

Matthew watched, mesmerized, as she glided towards him. She was a goddess, and he was completely undone by his desire for her. His eyes focused on her graceful legs as she moved. He loved her legs. They were exquisitely formed, and possessed the perfect combination of soft skin with firm muscle underneath that made him tremble with longing. One day, they would wrap around his waist as he drove into her, marking her as his forever. How he wished that day were already upon them!

Mary threaded the fingers of both her hands through his thick hair when she reached him, admiring its fine texture and healthy shine from her unusual position towering over him. She could feel her knees beginning to buckle as Matthew's hands began a torturously slow journey up her legs, caressing and kneading the muscle as he went. Finally, his fingers slipped under the fabric of her knickers, finding her center.

"God, Mary, you're so wet for me," he rasped, his voice thick with longing.

Mary was wet for him. She was trembling and throbbing with desire, and all she could think about was the feel of his hot breath as it reached her center through the thin lace covering. Hooking her fingers under the waistband of her knickers, she maneuvered them down her legs, exposing herself to his view. She smiled in satisfaction and pleasure as Matthew nearly sobbed with need at her gesture. He was transfixed. The dark curls between her thighs were framed so perfectly by those enticing red stockings. It took all his self-command not to push her down on the blanket and take her then and there. Instead, he let his finger slip into her warmth as his tongue delved into her folds to find her nub, making her knees buckle.

Strong arms caught her as she fell, and his large body immediately covered hers. She could feel his hardness as he pushed wantonly against her, making her mewl with pleasure.

"Mary, let me feel you, please," he begged, reaching down to work the fastenings of his trousers with clumsy fingers.

She flinched and tried to scoot away as she felt his tip brush against her entrance. Matthew's hands held her firmly in place.

"I won't take you, I promise," he whispered. "Please, just let me feel you."

Relaxing a bit at his words, Mary forced herself to lay still, trembling with anticipation and mild concern. She felt so powerless, trapped beneath his bulk, his impossibly strong hands pinning her shoulders to the ground. He could easily have taken her then. There was nothing she could have done to stop him. Mary didn't like feeling helpless, as a rule, but, somehow, this was different.

She jumped and whimpered as his tip brushed her center again, and she felt herself become wetter. Matthew felt it too, and it took all his control not to plunge into her at that moment. But, he had made her a promise. One he would keep, no matter how painful it was for him.

When he felt in control enough to do it, Matthew pressed his entire length against her hot quim, grinding and rubbing against her. Both cried out in ecstasy at this first contact of their intimate areas. Mary could feel his soft sack resting in the clef of her bottom, and felt the urge to rub against it, earning her a fierce kiss from her lover.

Matthew moved his hips in a circular motion, allowing his hard rod to rub against her aching clit. Unable to resist, she cried out his name and began mirroring his motions, lifting her hips to increase the pressure. Soon, she was coming hard against his shaft, coating him with her warm nectar. Matthew slid down her body, placing his head between her open thighs to catch the sweetness of her release with his tongue, prolonging her bliss.

Mary's body was completely limp, as he repositioned her on her side. Matthew moved to spoon his body behind hers, and shoved his throbbing cock between her closed legs, brushing up against her still-clenching cleft. On instinct, Mary reached down, placing her palm over his plump tip where it emerged between her thighs, as her fingers caressed the silken length of him.

"That's it, darling," he whispered seductively.

The things he groaned in her ear as his hips began to drive against her from behind made Mary blush, even after all they had done, and they inflamed her further. Her hand cradled and caressed his hardness each time he drove into her palm. She found herself wishing he could be inside her. The back and forth motion felt impossibly wonderful and intimate, and she yearned for more. Even after her second, then third orgasm she felt unsatisfied. She wanted to crawl under his skin, to take in every inch of him, to meld with him. At last, he cried her name as his hot essence poured into her hand. She held him tightly in her fist as he pulsed and erupted, his entire body tensing behind her. His fingers were digging into her hip hard enough to leave five bruises with his fingerprints on them, but she couldn't care. She twisted her body around to catch the look of bliss on his face, savoring his handsomeness as his body fell limp against the blanket.

Mary wiped her hand clean in the dewey grass, then turned to admire her spent lover. She pushed his wildly mussed hair out of his face, trying to restore it to some semblance of order. Matthew merely smiled at her gesture, and captured her hand in his, bringing to his mouth for a sleepy kiss. He felt blissfully sated and exhausted, probably owing largely to his lack of restful sleep the previous night. He opened his eyes and studied her, drinking in the afterglow of passion that lit her fair skin and darkened her luminous eyes.

"Mary, you're incredible. You have made last night up to me many, many times over."

Not wishing him to continue on the subject of the previous evening or her misguided note, Mary leaned down to silence him with a kiss. She hadn't expected the kiss to be anything but light and brief, but she found herself pulled into the allure of his luscious mouth. Lifting one leg over his hips, she straddled him, rubbing herself provocatively against his belly. Matthew sighed and returned her kiss languidly, his hands caressing her silk-clad thighs.

When she finally pulled back from the kiss, Matthew groaned as he admired her, legs open as she perched naturally on top of him, red-stockinged thighs hugging his waist.

"Promise me this isn't the last time I'll see these," he begged, indicating her red stockings by tracing his hands as far down the length of her legs as he could reach.

"Well," Mary began primly, "if you behave yourself, you might just get to see them again some time. Not if I ever catch you eyeing another woman, however."

"Why would I ever want to look at another woman," he responded, "when I have the loveliest creature in the world holding me in her thrall."

Pleased with his acceptably subservient answer, Mary rewarded him with another kiss, then several more light kisses over his chest and abdomen. When she reached the place where his trousers bunched awkwardly around his thighs, she nipped at his hipbones, dipping her tongue out to gently lick his balls. She grinned when his cock twitched and began to grow again at her touch.

"I believe you owe them an apology as well, after your rough treatment of them last night," Matthew grumbled.

"Aw, did I hurt you? Poor baby," Mary asked in mock concern.

"They were very sore last night, I'll have you know, and for more reasons than one - both of which were your doing."

Mary smiled, pleased with herself that she could wield such power over him. The pain she had inflicted marked him as hers as much as the pleasure she bestowed, so she couldn't help being glad she had done it. Feeling the urge to mark him, somehow, so that no other woman would dare touch him, she allowed her eyes to roam over his exposed skin, searching for a place to leave her mark. She decided on his lower belly, just above the angular bone of his hip, and placed her mouth over the spot. Matthew gasped in mixed pain and pleasure as she nipped and sucked at the spot, drawing the skin into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue. When she pulled back, Mary was pleased to see a bruise already blossoming on his fair skin.

Knowing that it would very shortly be time for Mary to dress for dinner, they reluctantly dressed themselves. Matthew stuffed Mary's discarded knickers in his pocket before she could grab them, smiling triumphantly down at her as he finished straightening his clothing.

Late that night, Mary studied the hand-shaped bruise he had left on her hip (which she had, thankfully, been able to hide from Anna) by lamplight. She touched each spot where his fingers had pressed into her skin, and felt that disconcerting warm feeling flood her gut again. Mary worried she was beginning to like her new lover too much. He was charming, amiable, and attractive. Devastatingly attractive. She knew she hadn't always thought that way, and it worried her. Somehow, she would have to retake control of the situation before she began to like Matthew too much.

The marks on her skin reminded her of how she had marked him. She wondered if he studied her mark as she did his. She wanted him to remember, always, that he belonged to her, that she had claimed him, and marked him. The mystery of why she felt so fiercely possessive of him was relegated to the increasingly long list of things Mary refused to think about. This - like the strange warmth in her gut when she thought of him, her unprecedented remorse for treating him ill the previous evening, and her firm conviction that she would not soon have had enough of him - could lead to nothing good.

* * *

**A/N:** I know I posted only yesterday, but I couldn't wait to post this chapter. You can only imagine how furiously I'm blushing right now. I believe this tops the last chapter I said was the most explicit scene I've ever written. :)

Mary's red stockings were inspired by a risque 1920s post card. I wish I could put it here, or even a link! Shucks.


	9. Chapter 9

_Part IX_

"Mary, I feel utterly ridiculous."

"Turn around and walk the other way, now."

Matthew sighed in mock agitation at Mary's commands, but did as she bid. What had started that afternoon as kissing and cuddling on their blanket had somehow ended up with him parading back and forth without a stitch of clothing on, while Mary grinned wolfishly at him from her position propped against their tree.

"I feel like a prize piece of horseflesh being considered at auction," Matthew grumbled good-humoredly, feeling his face heat with a very masculine blush as he turned so she could admire his bare backside.

Mary laughed heartily at his comparison, enjoying her view very well. It had occurred to her some time in the week since they had last been together that, in the almost three months since they had been enjoying each other's more intimate company, she had never seen him fully unclothed. The important bits, yes, but never the complete picture. She was rather taken with the enticing twin dimples just above his adorable bottom.

"Why, Matthew, your cheeks are turning all red. A bit bashful, are we?" she teased him.

Matthew's hands immediately covered his cheeks, more embarrassed that he was caught blushing than he was about his nudity. But how...

"How can you tell?" he asked, aware that, as his back was to her, she couldn't possibly see his face.

"Not the cheeks on your face, silly," she taunted him. Another vibrant laugh escaped her as his hands immediately moved to cover the blushing cheeks in question. When he turned to face her, she could see that his face was red as a summer strawberry. Mary laughed until her sides hurt.

Laughing himself, Matthew walked back to Mary's side, lowering himself beside her on the blanket. Mary was still laughing when he reclined on his back, pulling her to lie half on top of him. When her mirth finally abated, she allowed one of her hands to roam where it would.

"Mary, I'm beginning to feel the disparity in our situations," Matthew hinted, indicating Mary's still fully-clothed state.

"What would you have me remove?" she asked.

"Everything," was his automatic answer.

"No. Ladies don't parade around completely unclothed in the privacy of their bedchambers, let alone in the open air," she protested.

"And gentlemen do?" Matthew huffed.

"No, _gentlemen_ do not," Mary shot back, leaning down to press a soft kiss just over his heart, hoping to soften her words with the affectionate gesture.

"Well," Matthew continued, undeterred by her slight, "since I am, as you say, not a gentlemen, then...I will ask you to remove your blouse."

Mary sighed and pretended to be irritated by his request, but did as he said. She hadn't worn a corset that day, only a delicate pale pink camisole with cream-colored lace edging.

"Now your skirt."

"Now your skirt, _please_?" Mary insisted.

Matthew sighed deeply, but complied, enjoying their friendly taunting of each other.

"Now your skirt, _please_."

The skirt soon joined the discarded blouse on the edge of the blanket, leaving Mary in only shoes, black stockings, camisole, and...

"What, no knickers today?" Matthew exclaimed, staring at her bare hips. "You never cease to surprise - and delight - me."

"I didn't see the point in wearing them just so you could pilfer them," Mary explained cooly.

"For your information, those knickers are now in a place of honor," he shot back.

"Where? Your sock drawer?"

"No." He leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Under my pillow."

Mary's eyebrows rose nearly to her hair line.

"All of them? And what, pray tell, happens when...whoever changes your sheets, changes your sheets?"

"Well...then they go in my sock drawer," he answered. "And I only take out one pair at a time. Then I can dream about what we did on the day you wore that particular pair. Very sweet dreams, indeed!"

Chuckling lightly, Mary pushed him down on his back, once again placing her body over his. Their legs intwined as she rubbed tantalizingly against him. The feeling of her silk-clad legs against his bare skin was exhilarating.

"Now, darling, as much as I'm enjoying this conversation, we should probably get down to business. We haven't much time," Mary purred in his ear, reaching down to stroke him provocatively.

She didn't immediately notice her slip, but Matthew did. That was the first time she had ever called him "darling."

"Of course, sweetheart," he answered her sweetly, rolling them over and kissing a path down her belly to where she wanted him to be.

They made the most of their time, knowing it would be at least a week until they were able to be together like this again. Mary had decided, after "the day of the red stockings," as Matthew fondly called it, that their trysts would be limited to weekly, sometimes even further apart, depending on the circumstances. There was only so often that they could reasonably expect to disappear at the same time before someone started suspecting. Secretly, Mary was worried that seeing too much of him wasn't good for her. Not only that, it was downright dangerous.

Their interludes, thus far, had far exceeded Mary's expectations. She discovered that her middle-class, priggish impostor of a cousin was actually a very sweet and passionate man. (Not that she could possibly still think him _priggish_ when he was willing to do...what he was doing to her.) What he lacked in mystery, he made up for with charm. He was certainly a generous and talented lover, possessing all the necessary manly attributes to please her eye and stimulate her senses. Spending entire weeks apart, except for the one dinner per week that he and Isobel took at the big house, had become surprisingly difficult. She wouldn't have gone so far as to say she had missed _him_, exactly, but she had certainly missed the pleasure they gave each other. She had missed his lovely blue eyes, however. It was alright to admit to that, surely. And his voice...she could miss that, too, and still be safe.

_Of course I don't miss him. That would be utterly ridiculous! _

As he had on every previous outdoor meeting, Matthew had greeted her at the start of their current assignation with a blinding smile, viselike embrace, and the application of a great many endearments. While Mary had, initially, chaffed at his affectionate words, she often found herself recalling them in her head afterwards, somehow enjoying the knowledge that he did feel some level of genuine affection for her. It was gratifying, in a way, to know his feelings had been engaged. It certainly made it that much more unlikely that he would betray her with another woman.

The next morning, she caught herself thinking - not _daydreaming_, of course - about Matthew as she mechanically consumed her breakfast. He made her feel...oh, she wasn't really sure how he made her feel. Special, perhaps? Wanted, certainly. But, there was something else. Something she couldn't quite name. It would take Mary a while longer to realize it, but, if she had been honest with herself, she would have realized that the word she searched for was _happy_. Matthew made her happy. It was an emotion that she had experienced but rarely since leaving childhood behind her and entering the world of the marriage market, and rules, and expectations. It should come as no surprise, then, that she would have difficulty identifying the emotion when she finally experienced it.

Whether or not she was able to put a name to the way he made her feel, she liked the feeling, and found that thinking of him provoked it almost as well as actually being with him. She could think of the way he smiled at her, and the feeling would come. She could think of his voice, the way he called her all those silly little endearments nobody else had ever called her: "darling," "dearest," "sweetheart," "my girl." The last one seemed to affect her the most, somehow. She felt herself in very great danger of liking the thought of being "his" anything entirely too much.

She found herself reliving their playful banter of the previous afternoon instead of tasting the eggs she was chewing. Matthew was delightfully clever and witty. She had never met a man who could keep pace with her so easily, so...naturally before. He had been trying recently to convince her to spend time with him apart from their amorous encounters. Before leaving her the previous evening, he had invited her to dinner with him and his mother at Crawley House one day that week. She had turned him down, of course. What they had was strictly to be confined to passionate interludes on a dirty blanket under an oak tree. Friendship or...anything else that involved having dinner with his mother was out of the question. Wasn't it?

She began to think that, maybe, she could see him some apart from their trysts. They were family, after all. Perhaps it would be alright. She was already feeling far too kindly towards him, as it was. Did she really want to invite extra temptation? It was far, far too tempting to simply allow herself to care for him. It would be entirely too easy.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it...him._

Hoping to distract herself, she decided to ask her father about the letter he was reading, though she truly couldn't have cared less.

"Who's that from, Papa?" she asked. "You seem very absorbed."

"Your Aunt Rosamond," he answered without looking up.

"Anything interesting?" Edith asked.

"Nothing to trouble you with," was their father's evasive answer.

"_Poor_ Aunt Rosamond!" Sybil drawled. "All alone in that big house! I feel so sorry for her."

"Well, I don't," Mary insisted. "All alone with plenty of money and a house in Eaton Square. I can't imagine anything better." _Especially since Matthew and I wouldn't have to meet out of doors. Aunt Rosamond must be having a grand time with any number of lovers._

"Really, Mary, I wish you wouldn't talk like that." Her father's adamance shocked Mary for a moment. "There will come a day when someone thinks you mean what you say."

After she was finally done being embarrassed by her father's scolding in front of her sisters, Mary began to mull over his words. Was she really so very insincere? Thinking back over the past few months of conversations with her father, she wondered if he had ever taken anything she said to him seriously. How could he, she realized, when she didn't even take her own words seriously?

Her thoughts wandered, as they inevitably did, back to Matthew. Did _he_ take her seriously? She hoped, to a degree, that he didn't. If he did put any store whatsoever in the things she said, he might be under the mistaken impression that she returned his obvious affection. It was fun to encourage him when they were alone together, preferably minus at least some of their clothing. That wasn't the way things were in the real world, however, and she hoped he wouldn't fool himself into believing he was anything more to her than a pretty play thing she allowed to amuse her for an hour once a week, because that's all he was to her. Wasn't he?

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the shortness, but this was a good place to stop. Next time, we see what Matthew really thinks about the state of their relationship. We're in episode 5 now, so things are going to start heating up soon, and not necessarily in a good way. Stay tuned!

By the way, I posted that post card I mentioned in my last post - the one that gave me the idea for Mary's red stockings - on my tumblr. My user name is Britomart87 if you want to look it up. :)


	10. Chapter 10

_Part X_

The night after his most recent tryst with Mary, Matthew stood before his open sock drawer, lifting out pair after pair of dainty, feminine undergarments. Each piece represented a beautiful memory to him, a moment spent with the woman he loved and adored over any other. He wondered if Mary cherished each memory as he did, or if she were only scratching an itch. He had thought that, by this time, he would have made more progress towards winning her heart than he had, but he was still somewhat pleased. Each time they met, she seemed to soften towards him a bit more. That afternoon had been the first time she had used an endearment when addressing him. That was something, surely. Even the way she looked at him had changed. There was a tenderness, a sweetness, in her gaze now that made him hope that perhaps, if he were very, very lucky, she might be developing some deeper feelings for him.

He fingered the lace edging on a pair of pale pink, silky knickers as he recalled the occasion on which Mary had worn them. She had been so eager that day that she hadn't even waited for him to get the blanket out before pushing him back against their tree, her fingers nearly tearing the buttons from his trousers as she freed him for her enjoyment. Feeling overheated by the intense arousal coursing through him, Matthew had shrugged off his jacket and loosened his collar and tie while his lady had busied herself with the buttons of his undergarments. Mary had immediately latched onto his exposed neck, leaving a mark that his collar would barely conceal, as she weighed his stones in her hand. If she hadn't dropped to her knees the moment she had, Matthew would have resorted to begging, so intense was his need. Somehow, she had sensed his desperation and taken pity on him, lowering herself to gently run her tongue up the underside of his engorged phallus. He had panted and groaned as she had taken what she could of him into her mouth, her soft little hands cradling what her mouth was unable to cover. She had been powerless to save her hair from his grasping fingers that day, her mouth having been entirely too full to utter any sound of protest. Matthew groaned at the memory. Just thinking about her sweet, hot mouth on him made him instantly hard.

The next pair was nude in color, and simply adorned with only a tiny lace edging around the legs. Those had been worn the day he showed her how they could please each other simultaneously, lying with her straddling his face as she pleasured him with her mouth and hands. Mary had seemed to greatly enjoy that, as she requested an encore performance the next week, while shimmying a pair of white satin knickers with pink lace edging down her graceful legs.

Finally, he pulled out the scrap of tiny, diaphanous white lace that marked his favorite memory - the day Mary wore red stockings for him. He loved the memory of that day, not just because of how breathtaking she had looked, but because that morning she had sent him a letter that had given him such sweet hope for their future together. A letter he still carried with him in his breast pocket each day.

Matthew decided to keep that pair out that night and replaced the others underneath the rolled pairs of socks in the drawer, shutting it securely behind him as he made his way to his bedroom. He sighed deeply as he climbed into bed, still rubbing the fine lace between his fingers. He lifted the garment to his nose, still barely able to detect her delectable scent on the fabric. He dearly wished she were with him at that moment, not as his lover, but as his wife. Yes, he wanted to make love to her, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to hold her in his arms as they drifted off to sleep together. He wanted her lovely face to be the first sight his eyes beheld when they opened the next morning. Her kisses would be the sweetest awakening.

_One day. One day. _

Unfortunately, "one day" seemed increasingly far off. Despite the incredible connection they shared in private, in public, Mary treated him much the same as she always had. She only seated herself beside him at dinner if left without any other choice, and only spoke to him if he spoke first. She showed him no mark of special preference when in the presence of her family. Neither did she show any interest in spending time with him in which they kept their hands to themselves and their clothing on their bodies. He wanted Mary to be a part of every aspect of his life, but she seemed to have put him in a safe, tidy little box that existed in her world for only one hour once a week.

He would keep trying, though. Mary was a woman worth fighting for, a woman in a million. Her feelings for him were growing, however hard she might try to resist them. He would simply have to hold on to his faith in the inevitability of their union. They were fated for each other, of that he was certain. Mary would see it, in time. It was up to him to be patient, and to show her.

He certainly did relish her fierce possessiveness of him. It was certainly encouraging, even mildly endearing. It meant that, on some level, she had already accepted that he was meant to belong to her - that it would be wrong for them to be with anyone other than each other. They had both been with others before finding each other, and, Matthew knew from experience, that nothing he had previously encountered had compared to the bliss he had found with Mary.

He could only imagine what actually joining with her would be like. It would be heavenly, he was certain. Not only would their bodies unite, but their souls, as well. For once, it would be more than a mere physical act born of lust and base instinct. He had had sex before, but he would _make love_ with Mary. And they would have children together. Little dark-haired, dark-eyed boys and girls to fill their lives with laughter and joy. If only Mary could see the dream he did, the bright future he saw for them, perhaps they could both find the love and contentment they were meant to have.

Matthew's thoughts of Mary continued into the morning. She haunted his dreams, as she always did, and featured prominently in his first waking thoughts. He wished he could see her, but knew he was unlikely to until dinner at the big house two days from then. It could have been sooner, that very night even, if Mary had accepted his invitation to have dinner at Crawley House. He couldn't quite decide if it was time spent with him that she objected to, or if was time at Crawley House she found distasteful. It was hardly what she was used to, he understood that. If they were to marry, something would have to be worked out. Perhaps he could move to the Abbey. He wondered if Mary would accept an invitation to dinner at a nice restaurant or hotel. And there was always the theater or the opera. They would have to travel to London, of course, but he certainly wouldn't mind having her to himself for an evening. Dating was a new concept not yet widely accepted by "her lot" - or even his if he thought about it - but he was keen to try it out with Mary. He resolved to try his luck with her at the next possible opportunity.

The truth was, Matthew wanted Mary to be his girl in public as well as in private. He loved her and wanted to be with her, and didn't mind proclaiming the fact to the world. Whether or not Mary felt the same, he couldn't definitively say. Not yet. Sadly, if he were honest, he would have to admit that it was unlikely her feelings in this area had yet caught up with his. She didn't single him out at a family dinner, let alone anywhere else. This, like every other aspect of their relationship, would have to develop with time and a great exercise of patience on his part.

Over the weeks of constant preoccupation with all things Mary, Matthew had become quite adept at focusing his thoughts on work out of pure necessity. If he had gone on as he had the first week after the start of their secret relationship, he wouldn't have still had a job to speak of. Fortunately, he enjoyed his work - found it quite fascinating, really. It was enough to keep his thoughts semi-occupied, allowing him a reprieve from his increasingly-frustrating musings about Mary.

When lunch time rolled around, he was glad for an escape from the office. It was a lovely spring day, and he was eager to be out in it for the little time allowed him until later that afternoon. He donned his hat and coat and strolled happily out the door, stopping to collect his bicycle before heading out to enjoy the fine weather.

He was enjoying the breeze on his face when he rounded a corner and a familiar figure came into view just ahead. Even from behind, he immediately recognized Mary. It was as if his daydreams had materialized before him. A wide smile spread over his face as he approached her. He'd scarcely realized how much he'd missed her until she had unexpectedly appeared before him.

"Hello!" he called, but Mary continued walking purposely ahead.

Matthew eagerly dismounted and jogged the rest of the way up to her. She seemed to be very much lost in her thoughts.

In truth, Mary was lost in her thoughts. She had been ever since that morning. Her feelings for Matthew were beginning to worry her. The fact that she worried incessantly about her growing feelings for him worried her. Why couldn't life be simple? Why did people have to have expectations, and why did she have to care so much about not meeting them? Why could she not simply allow herself to like her charming lover who pleased her so much and was so kind, clever, and pleasant to be around? Was life truly intended to be so complex? so utterly confounding?

Mary was so absorbed in her self-questioning that she almost didn't take note of Matthew's approach.

"Is everything alright?" he asked kindly, clearly concerned by her perplexed frown.

"Oh! Hello," she greeted him politely, purposely refusing to dignify his ridiculous question with a response. "I'm about to send a telegram."

"Oh," was Matthew's only response. For the time being, he was content merely to walk along beside her and gaze upon her lovely face. Seeing her was such an unexpected pleasure, he couldn't help smiling.

A short conversation about Mary's aunt, Lady Rosimund ensued. It was harmless enough, until Matthew made some ill-conceived comment about Mary's aunt having been generous enough to write to welcome him into the family.

"It's easy to be generous when you have nothing to lose," Mary blurted out before she had a chance to think about what she was saying. She didn't intend to pick a fight with Matthew in the middle of town. In fact, she thought it would be prudent to escape his company as soon as possible. The urge to rend that horrid, ill-fitting black suit from his body and demand that he, once again, offer retribution for the sin of his very existence was becoming too much. Strangely enough, that thought led to the remembrance of something else that had been bothering her lately.

"You're not planning on doing any more church visiting with Edith, are you?" she asked petulantly. Edith had had her beady eye on Matthew for some time, and Mary couldn't like it at all. It would certainly give her a certain amount of satisfaction to have Edith's husband as her lover, but she hated the thought of Edith doing things with him that she couldn't. And the thought of Edith having his child...of Edith becoming his countess... Each thought was more intolerable than the last. She would, and probably could, put a stop to it all before things went any further in that direction.

"My mother's trying to set something up, but I..."

"Watch out," Mary interrupted him, "Edith has big plans for you."

"Then she's in for an equally big disappointment," Matthew responded finally. Edith was his cousin and a, sometimes, pleasant young lady to be around, but in no way could she compete with Mary for his affections or attentions.

Mary seemed happy with his answer. Her smile had become genuine, if perhaps a bit smug. They had reached the door of the telegram office, and Mary, having nothing further she wished to say, turned and started to go inside. Hating the thought of parting from her so soon, Matthew called out to her retreating form.

"Cousin Mary," he called, remembering to use their public form of address, "would you allow me to buy you lunch? There's a little cafe just around the corner, and I would greatly enjoy your company. I'll wait for you out here."

Mary sighed in exasperation. She hated having to disappoint Matthew (but refused, of course, to think about the reason why) yet, she knew that it was dangerous to spend too much time with him. Besides, if anyone were to see them together - eating lunch together at a little hole-in-the-wall cafe, no less - she would be utterly humiliated. If word got back to her family that she and Matthew were seeing each other outside of family gatherings, she would never have a moment's peace. They would be force-marched to the alter before the month was out. No, it was safer that she didn't spend time with him in public, for the sake of her sanity as well as her heart.

_My heart? What utter nonsense! Mary Crawley doesn't have a heart._

"Thank you for the invitation, Cousin Matthew, but I'm afraid I must decline." Seeing, and caring, about the sudden disappearance of his charming smile at her refusal, Mary quickly added, "I've already eaten."

"Perhaps tomorrow then?" Matthew tried again, refusing to back down so easily.

Mary was his girl, and it was high time she started behaving like it in public as well as in private.

"Oh...I'm afraid I can't tomorrow either. I'm...sure Mama couldn't spare me." It was an obvious contrivance, she knew, but she simply couldn't allow things between them to take that next step. It could lead nowhere good. Surely he knew that.

"I hear you loud and clear, Cousin Mary," Matthew answered, deeply hurt by her rejection. He prepared to beat a hasty retreat on his bicycle. "Good day to you."

The sadness in his lovely eyes sent a painful lurch shooting through Mary's heart, causing her legs and arms to feel weak and useless. Suddenly, she wanted to have lunch with him more than anything else in the world. Anything to make him smile. Anything to keep him from leaving her side. Anything to be close to him. What else could possibly matter?

"Matthew, wait!" she called as loudly as she dared, but he didn't turn. He just kept pedaling further and further away from her.

Mary still had enough pride not to run after him in the middle of the street, so she fixed her mask of haughty indifference firmly in place, and continued on her errand.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Not much steam in this chapter, but things are moving right along as far as the plot goes. Mary is slowly starting to recognize her feelings for Matthew. Let's hope she fully accepts them before she drives him away for good.

A quick note regarding my characterization of Matthew:

I'm using the "courtly love" model in my characterization of Matthew in this fic. If he seems a bit love-lorn and pathetic sometimes, it is deliberate. Courtly love revolved around the man, usually a knight, who was deeply in love with a lady who repeatedly spurned his advances and even ridiculed him for his ardent expressions of love and devotion. The knight may even go so far as to believe he will die without the love of his lady. No matter how she spurns him, he cannot help loving her. Needless to say, I haven't taken M&M to that extreme, but it was this notion that inspired my characterization of Matthew in particular. Medieval and Renaissance literature and history are my first loves, so I have to give them a nod sometimes. :)

Thanks again for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Sorry about the long wait between updates, everyone. I just accepted an offer on my house and put in an offer on a condo, so now I'm having to deal with all that craziness. I've been so stressed out I've been a bit worried that it's affecting the quality of my work. I hope not, but if it is, I'm sorry. Updates may continue to be longer than usual in coming, but they will come. I promise!

No steam in this chapter. Sorry! But, it does set us up for a climactic moment in the story. Enjoy!

_Chapter XI_

Matthew tried his best not to brood over Mary's scathing rejection of his offer of lunch. Perhaps she truly had already eaten. He shouldn't think so meanly of the woman he claimed to love that he would suspect her of lying to him. It also occurred to him that the following day was the setup for the flower show, so perhaps it was also true that her mother couldn't spare her. Her grandmother might, for all he knew, be in need of her help to prepare. Suddenly, he felt like a complete idiot for running away from her as he had. He must have looked like a spoiled, petulant child pouting over being denied a treat.

An entire day without seeing Mary was torture, but, soon enough, the day of the pre-flower show and dinner at the Abbey arrived. Matthew hadn't originally planned on attending the show until the main event the following day, but the prospect of seeing Mary made up his mind. He excused himself from the office an hour early, and made his way back to Downton village, his heart racing with the anticipation that always accompanied being in Mary's presence. He decided that, to justify his neglect of his work duties that afternoon, he would inspect the cottages before heading home. With any luck, Mary might show interest in seeing them with him.

As for Mary's thoughts on that morning, she still felt a small sting of remorse for the way she had so cruelly dismissed Matthew's attempts to invite her to lunch the previous day. She was not, however, so remorseful that she would do something rash like apologize or write him an idiotic letter that revealed far too much of her deeper feelings. She had learned her lesson in that regard.

She was happy to see him at the setup for the flower show, an event from which she had expected only boredom. Despite her previous resolve to remain aloof from him when in the presence of her family, she decided it might be safe to entertain a brief conversation with him. Her mother and grandmother seemed sufficiently distracted by the preparations that they wouldn't pay their conversation too much mind.

Matthew was thrilled that Mary purposely sought him out for a private conversation. He had hardly dared to hope for any of her notice, and it was certainly an unexpected delight. Though why Matthew would care enough to take time away from his precious work to be there was a mystery to Mary, she still felt glad to see him. Those ill-fitting suits he always wore were, strangely, beginning to look endearingly attractive to her. His hair was slightly mussed. He looked altogether adorable.

"Are you interested in flowers?" she asked him after a brief conversation about the amusingly turbulent relationship between his mother and her grandmother. It seemed a silly question to her, but she wasn't willing to allow the conversation to lag. She wasn't done admiring his charming grin.

"I'm...interested in the village," he answered, though, if he were to be honest, he was mainly interested in a certain dark-eyed beauty whom he had hoped would be there. "In fact, I'm on my way to inspect the cottages."

As tempting as it was to ponder asking her if she would like to go with him, Matthew wasn't sure he could take another rejection so soon on the heels of the last one. If she wanted to spend time with him, she would have to offer him some kind of sign. Unfortunately, none was forthcoming.

"You know what all work and no play did for Jack," she teased him. Mary had truly only meant it as a tease, but, for Matthew, her playful jibe hit entirely too close to home.

"You think I'm a dull boy anyway, don't you?" he asked forlornly. Mary gave him a flirtations look that lifted his spirits sufficiently to allow him to catch onto her little game. They had rather sped past the flirtation phase of their relationship thus far, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

"I play too... as well you know," he flirted back, raising an eyebrow at her.

"So I've heard," Mary replied cooly, pretending ignorance of that to which he was referring.

"By the way, I'm coming up for dinner tonight," he continued. Did she look happy to hear it, or was it only his imagination? "I suspect I'm there to balance the numbers. Is it in aid of anything?"

"Not that I know of," Mary answered. "Just a couple of dreary neighbors, that's all."

"Maybe I'll shine by comparison," Matthew joked.

"_Mary! We're going!" _Her grandmother's shrill voice signaled the end of their conversation. Though she was loath to leave his side, Mary took comfort in the knowledge that she would see him again in only a few hours. In the mean time, she would leave him with something to ponder until their next meeting.

"Maybe you will," Mary answered flirtatiously, purposely letting her eyes rake over him from head to toe. Seeing no eyes turned in their direction, she allowed her fingertips to trail over his abdomen as she brushed past him. She smiled in smug satisfaction at his sharp intact of breath.

* * *

Mary was busying herself with putting on the finishing touches at her vanity after dressing for dinner that evening when her mother and Edith entered.

"Mary, dear," Lady Grantham began cheerfully, "I was just telling Edith that she is to pay special attention to Sir Anthony Strallon at dinner tonight. I think he would do wonderfully for her."

Glancing at her sister's reflection in her mirror, Mary felt a stab of annoyance at the smug smile on her sister's sadly-plain pinched little face. She wasn't sure what it was about Edith that she had always disliked, but the animosity between the two eldest Crawley sisters had began in the nursery and had extended to the drawing room. What began as a competition over dolls had grown into a competition over men, though Mary generally claimed the prize in that department, being blessed with more natural advantages than her dowdy sister.

"This is a surprise, Mama," Mary responded to her mother's pronouncement. "I'm usually the lucky one who gets pushed at anything with trousers and a title - or the hope of a title, at least."

Looking pointedly at her sneering sister's face reflected in the glass, Mary decided to throw out a line and see what came of it.

"What, giving up on Cousin Matthew, are you Edith?"

"Don't be daft Mary," Edith shot back, bitterness and jealousy dripping from every word. "Anybody with eyes can see that you have Matthew wrapped around your little finger. You could show a little appreciation instead of treating him like rubbish as you do. It's as plain as day to all of us that your neglect hurts him, perhaps even more than your poorly-concealed barbs."

Mary felt her face grow hot. Returning her eyes to her own reflection before her, she was horrified to see that her face had flushed nearly as red as her dress. Whether this reaction was born of fury or embarrassment or both was beyond her. Or perhaps it was only the mention of his name that made her blush. It had certainly seemed that way of late.

Sensing an immanent argument, Lady Grantham had tactfully removed Edith from the room, leaving Mary to complete her preparations in solitude. As she dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists, Mary contemplated Edith's words. It seemed that, even when she tried desperately to hide any hint of a connection between herself and Matthew, it was still evident. Matthew apparently hadn't been trying hard enough. She would have to have a word with him about the need for secrecy and discretion. Then again, she had never noticed him doing or saying anything out of line. It was only the heat of his gaze when his entrancing eyes turned her way (as they very frequently did) that could possibly be the culprit. Until that evening, she had been sure that she was the only one who noticed. He did engage her in conversation frequently, but not so very much more than he did anybody else. Perhaps he did show his preference some but...oh, why did everything have to be so complex? Could they not simply enjoy one anther's company, intimate and otherwise, without numerous rules and expectations being thrust upon them?

Then there was that other thing Edith had implied. Had she really been causing him pain with her coldness? Surely he understood her reasons. Had she not made herself perfectly clear before their arrangement even began that, under no circumstances, was her family to get wind of their...special attachment? Still, the thought of hurting him in any way caused an increasingly-familiar constriction in her chest that made the thought of continuing in the usual manner impossible. Besides, she _had_ grown to _like_ Matthew. She could, at least, admit to that much. He was a likable person. Everybody liked Matthew. Why should she not? In a rare moment of clarity, Mary realized that she hadn't allowed herself to like Matthew because it was expected of her - the same reason she had bucked so strongly against the idea that the two of them should marry. But, surely, being friends and getting married where two very different things, and could not possibly be put in the same category. Yes, she could like him, and be friends with him, without sacrificing her ideals or her pride. That resolution set, she decided that she would enjoy his amiable company throughout the evening. Surely it could do no harm.

Mary found herself looking forward to the evening with considerable anticipation.

* * *

Matthew couldn't have been more delighted when Mary, resplendent in red, greeted him with a bright, welcoming smile upon his arrival in the drawing room. She was truly stunning, and, for once, seemed to glory in and invite his appreciative looks, rather than pretending he wasn't in the room. He didn't miss the way her eyes raked over him with obvious delight. Suddenly, Matthew felt as though he were standing completely naked in the middle of the drawing room, and a rosy flush began to make its way out from under his collar, which felt suddenly too tight.

Dinner was announced, and Mary made her way directly to Matthew's side to be led into the dining room on his arm. Again, Matthew was beyond pleased. He was thrilled. His mind could find no logical way to account for her sudden change in demeanor towards him, but, whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He seated himself at the end of the table with Mary at his left next to her father. Opposite them, Sir Anthony Strallon was seated between Lady Grantham and Edith.

The seating arrangement proved most fortuitous for Matthew. As he held Mary's chair to help her be seated, she hiked up her skirt just enough to show him a glimpse of red-stockinged ankle. She smiled provocatively up at him, and Matthew returned her secretive glance. It was lovely to share a secret with Mary, something only the two of them shared. It made him feel closer to her, somehow. Not to mention, the memory of the last time she had worn the red stockings had him all hot and flustered almost instantly. He wondered if she was also thinking of that day. After the first course was laid out before them and conversation began, Matthew allowed his hand to wander over to her thigh, stroking gently over the lace overlay of her skirt. There was more tenderness in his touch than lust. Mary delighted him, once again, by threading her fingers through his, giving his hand an intimate squeeze under the table.

Though they dared not risk holding hands throughout the meal, lest someone eventually detect their subterfuge, the feeling of closeness and familiarity that had started the meal continued throughout. Their conversation was amiable and pleasant on a level they had scarcely enjoyed before. She had even expressed interest in seeing his work on the cottages. Matthew was nearly giddy with joy. Mary seemed to finally be allowing him to be a part of her life - the part that was visible to others. Perhaps it was time to begin planning his proposal. He thought about his grandmother's engagement ring hidden away in his safe at home. It was a deep red ruby in a gold setting, surrounded by dozens of tiny diamonds. It would look lovely on Mary's delicate white hand. Best of all, it would mean that she belonged to him, completely, utterly, and unashamedly.


	12. Chapter 12

_Part XII_

That night, after everyone had retired, Mary found herself very much in need of her mother's council. Against her better judgment, against all her ideals and ideologies, even against her own will and reason, she had found herself very deeply in love with Matthew. Though she was sure it had been coming on gradually for some time, it was only that night that she had fully realized the extent of her feelings for him. There had been a moment at the dinner table when she had looked over at him seated next to her and saw a beautiful vision of what their life could be...together.

Despite her deep and ardent feelings for him, there was a part of her that still held back. Perhaps it was only her own pride, that natural independence that demanded she please no one but herself. Never having been in love before, she couldn't truly be sure that her feelings would last. As much as she loathed the idea of opening up her heart to anyone else, she hoped that her mother would be able to help her decide if her feelings were true and lasting, or merely a whim or a dalliance. Her mother would encourage her in Matthew's direction in any case, but she desperately needed to talk to somebody, and it just wouldn't be proper to speak of it to Anna, no matter how she wished she could.

Mary raised her hand to knock on her parent's door, but stopped short when she heard her name spoken within.

"I was very pleased with how well Mary and Matthew got on tonight," her father spoke. There was a rustle of fabric that told her they were just getting into bed.

"I agree," her mother responded. "I've never seen Mary smile so often - _truly_ smile - in one evening. I think Matthew is good for her."

"I believe so," Lord Grantham enthusiastically agreed with his wife. "He would certainly be a much better match for her than Patrick would have been."

"Whatever do you mean by that, Robert?"

"Cora, you know I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Patrick...well, he was rather a dullard. While the material advantages he could offer Mary as my heir were ideal, I almost hated to see her wasted on a man who could neither truly appreciate her qualities nor command her respect. Matthew is a bright, sharp young man. Hardworking. He's impossible _not_ to respect and admire, and it's because he has something that Patrick, and so many others, sorely lacked - integrity. He would certainly keep Mary on her toes, not allow her to walk all over him like many men would. She needs that. Our Mary needs a man with strong character and a quick mind. Matthew is her equal in a way I have never seen before."

"True. Matthew is a very admirable man, and very clever. I couldn't help listening in some on their conversation after dinner. I could scarcely keep up," Cora observed with a self-depreciating smile.

"Matthew challenges Mary intellectually," Lord Grantham asserted. "She's a terribly intelligent woman, more so than most men, even. Perhaps fate has brought Matthew to us. Maybe Providence knew Mary needed someone like him. She _deserves_ someone like him, someone she can look up to and admire."

"Up until tonight I wasn't sure she would ever allow herself to see his qualities, but I feel hopeful now," Lady Grantham spoke.

"Yes," Lord Grantham responded with a chuckle. "Not just any man would allow Mary to drag him to the library so that she could show him a book on ancient mythology."

Mary had to suppress a laugh at her father's naiveté. Books had been the last things on her mind when she had "dragged" Matthew to the library that evening.

Deciding she had heard quite enough, she turned and walked quietly back to her room. Once in bed, she closed her eyes and thought back to her too-brief time with Matthew in the library.

For the first time, they hadn't done anything very intimate, only held each other and kissed. His kisses had been soft, sweet, and adoring. She could almost still feel the warmth of his hands as they cupped her face, the feathery brush of his lips over hers as he hovered close before pressing her lips gently with his. The smell of his aftershave lotion had overwhelmed her senses, making her head spin delightfully. Or was it the gentle teasing of his tongue against hers that so robbed her of her equanimity? All she knew was that, when he reluctantly drew back so that they could return to the drawing room, his eyes had held such tenderness, such warmth, that she had known then and there that she was hopelessly in love.

Back in her bed, Mary pondered the things her parents had said about herself and Matthew. She had to agree with the truth of some it. Matthew _was_ very clever, despite his middle-class manners. Those manners, once a source of derision and ridicule to Mary, now seemed almost endearing to her. It was strange, she thought, how love could alter one's perception so radically.

Now the big question that needed answering was what did she do with her newly-acknowledged feelings. Could she possibly act on them? Could she...could she _marry_ Matthew? It seemed silly to ponder such a thing when he hadn't even proposed. Perhaps he never would.

While the idea of marrying Matthew had more merit for Mary than it ever previously had, her pride still balked at the idea of doing something so expected. Even if she and Matthew knew the true reasons for their union, everyone else would assume they married for convenience. Her very nature revolted at the idea. Did she want to be with Matthew enough to put aside every consideration but her feelings? Could she see herself, one day, meeting and marrying somebody else? Could she sit by and watch Matthew marry somebody else? And she _did_ want to be mistress of Downton one day. It just seemed too _neat_. The first heir died, so she would, of course, be passed down to the next heir like a handed down set of crested cufflinks. Did she care enough for him to put all this aside and simply be happy with him?

When Mary awoke the next morning, she was no closer to answering any of these questions than when they had finally lulled her to sleep some time in the small hours of the morning. She desperately wished to see Matthew, and was glad that he would be at the flower show. With any luck, she could arrange for them to have some time alone later that afternoon. She needed to see him, touch him, _be_ with him. It seemed the only thing that could restore some clarity to her tumultuous thoughts and feelings.

* * *

There were hundreds of beautiful, colorful, and exotic blooms filling the room, but Matthew saw only the radiant beauty on his arm. Mary was dressed in simple, pretty dress with elbow-length sleeves and delicate lace edging. A long strand of pearls and a pair of lacy gloves completed her demure, ladylike ensemble. Matthew thought she looked fresh and pretty, and altogether very fetching and at home amongst the colorful array of blossoms.

Upon entering, he had spotted her immediately, and was pleased to see, by the radiant smile that lit her lovely face as she met his eyes, that she had been watching for him. He had offered her his arm to escort her around to view each booth, and she had, to his delight, accepted without hesitation. Matthew smiled to think that, after everything they had done together in the privacy of their sunlit haven, the simple pressure of her small hand on his arm made his heart race wildly and his breath quicken.

After browsing the opulent displays of fresh blooms for several minutes, Mary, seeing that her family members were engrossed in conversation amongst themselves, gently tugged Matthew away from the crowd into a corner of the room where they could speak semi-privately, if not freely.

"Matthew, I wonder if you might show me some of your progress on the cottages before I return home," she suggested with an air of false innocence.

Matthew positively lit up at her suggestion, and Mary was thrilled to see that she had pleased him. Her heart thudded in her chest as thought about how dear he was to her now. It was becoming more and more impossible to imagine her future life without him as a part of it.

"I would be delighted to show you," he responded eagerly. "Your input would be most welcome."

It was Mary's turn to brighten. She was delighted, if a bit surprised, by his suggestion that her opinion would be welcome. She had always been interested in the estate and estate matters, but had despaired of ever being allowed, as a mere woman, to have much of a hand in anything besides planning dinners and arranging Christmas presents for the servants.

"Truly?" she asked in happy disbelief. "You would wish for _my_ opinion?"

"Absolutely," Matthew answered, his voice dropping to an almost-whisper as he looked intently into her eyes. "You must know the tenants and the estate much better than I do. Your opinion will always be valued by me. Always."

The last word was said with such heavy significance that Mary's face began to flush with the heat of anticipation. There was also a touch of anxiety there, somewhere in the back of her consciousness, which she tried, and failed, to ignore. Of course, she could be misunderstanding his implication, but, if he did propose to her, she still wasn't completely sure what her answer would be. She just wasn't sure, however much the thought of marrying him appealed to her, that she could go through with it. Her heart, soul, and body wanted him - maybe even needed him - desperately, but her mind and her stubborn pride still protested heartily. She was, however, mildly encouraged by the realization that the dissenting voice had grown quieter since the previous evening, while the voice of her heart had grown stronger.

It was with great impatience that the pair awaited the end of the flower show, but, soon enough, the trophy had been handed out and they were all free to leave. Mustering his courage, Matthew sucked in a steadying breath and made his way over to Lord Grantham.

"Cousin Robert," he greeted.

"Matthew, my boy," the earl responded with a friendly smile that eased Matthew's nervousness somewhat. "Did you enjoy the show."

"Indeed I did," Matthew answered readily, though he owed that enjoyment much more to Mary than to the flowers. "Everything was splendid. I'm pleased that old Mr. Mosley was awarded the trophy this year. He's certainly earned it.

"Quite right," Robert agreed, "though I'm afraid my poor mother has suffered quite a blow to her ego."

Matthew laughed companionably with Robert for a moment before catching Mary's eye across the room. She was watching him, apparently waiting for him to stop making useless small talk and get to the point so that they could be on their way.

"Cousin Robert, I wonder if I might ask you something," he asked haltingly.

"Of course you can, my lad," Robert answered kindly, patting Matthew's shoulder in a fatherly manner that always made Matthew blush.

"Mary has...expressed an interest in seeing my work on the cottages. I wonder if I might show her."

"Oh?" Robert asked, skeptical, but pleased. His eyes flitted over to Mary, who turned quickly to avoid her father's delighted gaze. He looked exactly as he used to when she did as she was told as a child. The thought put somewhat of a damper on her excitement at getting a little time alone with Matthew.

"Of course you may show her the cottages, Matthew," Robert answered, patting Matthew's shoulder with greater enthusiasm. "That sounds like a marvelous idea."

"I was also wondering if...if you would allow me to detain her through luncheon. I thought it a fine day for a picnic."

Matthew was blushing furiously by the end of his speech. He had never asked Robert for permission to be alone with Mary before, but things between them were becoming more serious. Perhaps it was time they started doing things the right way. Besides, he would need to speak to Robert before offering for Mary. Yes, it was absolutely time he started doing things properly. There would be ample time for indulgence after they were married.

By the time he returned to her side, Mary appeared decidedly annoyed. He couldn't help but think his delay in returning to her to be the cause, and he felt it necessary to offer his apologies. Mary's reply was somewhat less than gracious, and she looped her hand through his arm with slightly more pressure than was absolutely required. Together, they exited the building and started down the street in the direction of the cottages.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the long wait between chapters, guys. I'll be wrapping things up pretty soon between them. Next time, we'll see what happens at the cottages. I promise there will be some steam. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Well, here it is, with steam as promised. ;)

Just to recap: Matthew has decided to propose soon; Mary realizes she loves him, but isn't sure she's ready to put her pride aside and do what's expected of her; and they have just embarked on a tour of the cottages after the flower show.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Part XIII_

For nearly a half hour Matthew walked Mary proudly from cottage to cottage, pointing out little things here and there and occasionally asking her opinion on this or that. It was decided that Mary would choose the wall papers and window trimming for all the cottages, as neither Matthew nor Lord Grantham knew aught about such things.

Mary woodenly agreed to Matthew's suggestions, answered his questions, and followed his lead, but her mind was largely occupied elsewhere. She was questioning herself again, questioning her heart and her head. Matthew was delightful. That had not ceased to be true. What was also true, however, was that her father, and the rest of her family, had not ceased to hope that she would yet do her duty. And she had, unfortunately, not ceased to wish to disappoint them.

"Last one," Matthew announced cheerfully as he ushered her inside the doorway of a small, but cozy little cottage. This one, she was surprised to see, boasted a few pieces of old, but serviceable, furniture.

"This one's a favorite of mine," Matthew explained as he led her into the dimly lit parlor. "I wouldn't mind living in it myself. With improvements, of course."

That was a surprise. Seeing Mary's raised eyebrows, Matthew continued:

"I can see I've shocked you. But, you must know, I never aspired to live in a great house or...to be heir to an earldom. A simple life with a modest, but comfortable home...a family...love. That's all I've ever aspired to."

Mary was caught by the intensity in his sapphire eyes as he spoke. For the first time, she truly considered what Matthew's feelings must be on the matter of the entail - on the duties and expectations that had been thrust, unbidden and even unwanted, upon him. He had hopes and dreams of his own once, and they had, mostly, been taken from him. He had dreamed of love, not of a marriage of duty and convenience. No wonder he had been so adamant about no allowing her father to push her, or any of her sisters, at him. She had resented him for it, at first. She had resented him for the very thing she, herself, felt. Being pushed at him was never something she had wanted either.

Lost in thought as she was, Mary was surprised when she felt Matthew's hand close around her own.

"Come." His voice was deep and sultry in her ear.

Mary allowed herself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs to the upper floor, and into a small bedroom with a single window that looked out over a pretty, if slightly neglected, little garden. There was a wrought-iron bed in the center of the room with a faded quilt spread over it and a tattered arm chair in the corner.

Thinking about his hopes for the future had made Matthew sentimental, and all he could think about was acting out his fantasy of bringing a wife - bringing Mary - to a home of their own to make her his. For the moment, she wasn't Lady Mary Crawley, daughter of an earl, nor was he the heir to Downton. They were just two people who loved and desired each other, and were now standing, all alone, in the upstairs bedroom of a cottage, staring at the all-too-available bed.

Matthew snaked his arms around her from behind, pulling her close as he leaned in to whisper seductively in her ear.

"_Lie with me, Mary."_

His gentle, but insistent, command sent a shot of arousal straight to Mary's apex, and she squirmed in his arms, desperate for his hands everywhere on her body. This was what she needed, what she craved. When she was in his arms like this nothing and nobody else mattered. Being with him, loving him, holding him...those were the things that mattered, the moments she lived for.

Sensing her acquiescence, Matthew began ridding Mary of her clothing, starting with her hat and gloves before moving to the row of tiny pearl buttons on the back of her dress. This time, he wanted no barriers at all between them.

He pulled at the strings of her corset next, tugging and yanking insistently until the garment loosened and fell to the floor at their feet. Then, his hands found the hem of her silky camisole and lifted it upward, pausing for a moment to allow her to lift her arms so he could draw it up over her head.

Standing in only her knickers, shoes, and stockings, Mary turned and drew him down to her for a frantic kiss. She wanted him so desperately, somehow more than she ever had before. The new recognition of her feelings for him freed her to surrender to him, to allow him to take control and to tell her what he wanted, for once. Her need to dominate him, to have him submit to her and her desires, seemed to have melted and re-formed into a desperate longing to serve him, to bend to his every desire, to please him.

Mary looked askance at the tatty quilt covering the bed before allowing Matthew to push her her down onto it. Her breaths came quick and shallow as he knelt before her, blue eyes hooded with desire, and began removing her shoes, then rolling her stockings down her legs. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, and she lifted her bottom to allow him to draw them down her legs, leaving her, for the first time, completely unclothed before him.

Matthew stood and leaned down to kiss her briefly before standing fully and shrugging off his coat, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him.

"Lie back," he instructed in a rough, commanding voice that left Mary no choice but to obey.

She watched impatiently as his fingers worked frantically to rid himself of his clothing. His eyes were on her constantly, moving over her bare form with unmasked adoration and desire. When they returned to her face, his features softened into an expression of tenderness, of affection, that made her breath hitch in her throat. She watched through slightly lowered lashes as he dropped his final scrap of clothing and his magnificent arousal sprang free, pulsing with eagerness for her touch.

As he placed the length of his body over hers, Mary wondered if he intended to take her, there on a dirty bed in a vacant cottage. He had agreed, when they struck their bargain all those weeks ago, that he wouldn't take her virtue, yet, somehow, this didn't seem like a part of their bargain. This wasn't only about her and her pleasure. For the first time, it truly felt about _them_ and what they shared.

Surrendering herself to him fully (her love and desire for him were such that she could do nothing else), Mary wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, holding him to her as her legs involuntarily fell open to accommodate him. A white-hot pulsing had started in her most intimate of spaces, and her thighs trembled with anticipation and need to have him fill her, to have him complete her.

However things may have appeared to Mary, Matthew had never intended to do more to her than they had done before. He would save the rest for their wedding night, which he was now sure couldn't be far in the future. For the moment, he simply relished the feel of her soft form, completely uncovered, writhing below him as he planted wet kisses all along her jaw, neck, and shoulders before returning to the allure of her parted lips.

After several moments of probing kisses, Matthew uncurled her arms from around his neck and laced his finger through hers as he pushed them up over her head, leaving her open as he slid down her body to kiss and lave her hardened buds until she was nearly sobbing for release. Only then did he free her hands, which immediately found their way into his hair as he moved further down still, parting her folds with his fingers so his tongue could find her. He tasted her for a few moments, but this wasn't the way he wanted her to spend.

Mary whimpered at the loss of his mouth on her as he moved back up lie over her again, but she made no further protest as she realized that he must now intend to join with her. Her breath sped with longing and arousal. Carefully, Matthew lifted each of her slender legs, curling them over his shoulders as he leaned over her. He pressed his hardness against her begging flesh repeatedly, and Mary saw stars. It was so beautiful, so intense, but it wasn't nearly enough. She needed him inside her, not just against her. She needed it desperately.

After several pleasurable pushes against her wet center, Matthew leaned back on his heels and quickly flipped Mary onto her stomach, shocking her, but thrilling her with the realization of his much greater strength. He could do anything to her, and there was very little she could do to resist. The knowledge was strangely erotic.

Matthew gripped her hips with his long fingers, pulling her up onto her hands and knees on the bed. He tortured himself with the breathtaking view of her backside and womanhood for a moment before placing himself between her thighs, against her wet warmth. With his hands on her thighs, he encouraged her to close her legs, creating delicious friction as he slid against her.

Mary knew she should have been shocked and embarrassed by the submissive position he had placed her in, but the way his hips pounded against her buttocks as his rod rubbed tantalizingly against her swollen nub was just too blissfully lovely for her to ever want him to stop. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the experience, enjoying every delicious sensation as she pushed her hips back to meet his every movement.

Feeing his climax beginning to build between his thighs, Matthew slowed his pace and leaned over the smooth expanse of her back, planting sweet kisses on her shoulders and the back of her neck. When he reached her ear, he traced its delicate shape with his tongue before suckling her lobe into his mouth.

"_Mary." _His breath felt cool against the dampness he had left on her skin. "_I want to marry you."_

The words had slipped out without conscious thought or intent. It was simply the honest expression of what was in his heart at that moment. He had never intended to propose in such a manner. It was certainly a far cry from the proper proposal he had planned, but the words had escaped, and he couldn't truly regret them. Overcome by emotion, he rained wet kisses and nips over Mary's upper back, tasting and savoring the silky skin and each caramel-colored freckle and mole that he had never explored so thoroughly before.

Absorbed in his tender worship of her bare skin, Matthew didn't immediately realize that Mary had gone tense beneath him. He didn't fully comprehend her withdrawal until she squirmed out of his hold, stepping down onto the wood floor and gathering her clothes.

"Mary, what's wrong?" he asked, astonished and suddenly cold with the loss of her warmth against him.

"Nothing," she answered automatically as she stepped into her knickers. "I simply...wasn't prepared for that."

"Is the thought of marrying me so very offensive?" Matthew shot back, hurt by her sudden coldness.

"Of course not," Mary huffed, becoming exasperated with...well, with the entire situation. "I don't know how I feel about it, to tell you the truth."

"Well...you should probably start thinking about that now, because I plan to prepose to you properly in the near future."

Matthew desperately wanted to tell her that he loved her, but the words died on his lips. He couldn't utter such precious sentiments when she was in no mood to receive them properly. He couldn't bear to have his deepest and most profound feelings trampled on as though they meant nothing to her.

"Will you help me with this?" Mary asked timidly, handing him her corset.

Matthew nodded reluctantly and allowed her to show him how to assist her in re-lacing herself. After he was finished, he sighed sadly and wrapped his arms around her waist from his position kneeling on the edge of the bed behind her, and rested his forehead against her shoulder.

Mary resisted the urge to pull away and allowed him to hold her. She could tell he was struggling against a powerful emotion, trying to pull himself back together. He felt rejected, and she couldn't blame him. She hated herself for hurting him, but felt that she could have acted no other way. She couldn't answer his impromptu proposal, and couldn't deny that it had made her uncomfortable. Though more open to considering marriage with Matthew than she ever had been, she still wasn't fully reconciled to the idea. There was still so much to consider, so many other options to weigh. She still wasn't sure her pride would allow her to go through with it. She needed more time.

Finally feeling composed enough to go on, Matthew released his hold on Mary's waist and rose to begin collecting his own clothing. What a disaster the afternoon had turned out to be!

_So much for doing things properly._

When they were both fully dressed and ready to depart, he stopped her progress to the door with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Mary, I told your father I would keep you through luncheon. If you return early he'll wonder why."

Mary looked down at her feet and nodded resignedly.

"If you like you can wait here and...compose yourself, while I walk over to Crawley House and have Mrs. Byrd arrange a basket for us. I'll collect you when I have it," Matthew offered kindly.

"Alright," Mary acquiesced.

"I'll make sure to grab a bottle of wine. It's early in the day, but I think we could both use the fortification."

Mary could only nod numbly as she followed him from the room.

They descended the stairs together, sharing a parting glance as Mary seated herself on the ragged sofa in the main room, and Matthew closed the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N2: **Sorry about leaving you hanging on such a sour note, but...

Next time, we go on a tense picnic. Sparks will fly, in more ways than one. Please let me know what you think about the new developments.

Will Matthew's devotion withstand Mary's indecision? Was the Pamuk issue truly the only thing keeping Mary from answering his proposal in canon? I'd love to know what you think, as these are questions I hope to explore in the next few chapters.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**So sorry about the fake out yesterday, everyone! Here it is, for real this time. :)**

**A/N: **Before I begin, I must admit to some trepidation about this chapter. I felt that it was the inevitable path the story would take, with emotions running as high as they are with our dear couple, but I still feel nervous about posting this time. Mixed reactions are expected. I know not everyone will love the direction I'm going with this. I'm also blushing madly. :)

Well, so much for what I said when I first started posting about this being a low-angst story. lol It has definitely evolved since the beginning. Now I need angst relief from my angst relief story. WTF! I guess M&M wouldn't be who they are without angst. It's inevitable. As with all the lovely seemingly-impossible angst in canon, this does have a happy resolution, I promise!

I would like to give a huge shout out to Willa Dedalus for helping me muster the courage to write this and to post it. You rock!

***Last thing. If you think you may have forgotten some of what went down in the last chapter, you may want to go back and re-read at least the end. This might not have the same effect if the last chapter's events aren't fresh. ***

* * *

_Part XIV_

Almost without conscious thought, they found themselves inevitably drawn to _that _spot on Downton's sunny grounds. The secluded place, under the dappled light of an ancient oak, that had born witness to all their intimate moments, and was now destined to witness a defining moment, a turning point, in the lives of the young lady and gentleman who had chosen its shade as their haven.

For several moments they sat quietly, each picking at the ham sandwiches Mrs. Byrd had prepared and trying, without success, to fix their eyes anywhere but on each other. When they had finally given up on eating in tense silence, Matthew reached into the basket and removed the crystal decanter full of rich red wine and two glasses. He poured one and handed it to Mary without making eye contact before pouring a second for himself.

Matthew knew that they needed to talk, he wasn't sure he would be able to speak just yet without saying things he would regret. His emotions were still running high from Mary's stinging rejection back at the cottage. He didn't know what to say to her. What could he say that would be, in any way, productive? She knew how he felt, and she had made herself perfectly clear that her hopes did not line up with his. All he could dream of accomplishing that afternoon was to discover if her feelings for him allowed for any hope that he might yet be able to convince her to marry him in the future. Perhaps she was simply not ready. He could handle that. As long as he had hope he could be patient.

"Mary," he began softly after tossing back the last of his wine, "do you...do you think you might...some day...become accustomed to the idea of...of a future..."

"Oh, Matthew, why must this be decided now?" Mary interjected, cutting his faltering speech short.

This was what Mary had been hoping to avoid, though she had known it to be a vain hope. She couldn't bear to hurt him, nor could she bring herself to give him what he wanted. She knew how she felt about _him_, but marriage to him was a separate thing entirely. Twenty odd years of thinking of marriage and love as not necessarily mutually inclusive concepts could not be simply tossed aside on a whim.

"I need you to give me more time, Matthew. I'm simply not ready to...consider a future between us just yet."

"But why?" Matthew shot back, angered by her cold dismissal of his fervent wishes. "Do you hope a better prospect might yet present itself? Or, perhaps, you wish to keep me around for your own pleasure until you find some new lover to satisfy your needs? Is _this," _he gestured to the empty space on the blanket between them, "all I am to you?"

"Of course not!" Mary cried, horrified that he would think so little of her. "I do...care for you, but...things are not that simple!"

"Well, I think it _is_ simple!" Matthew replied forcefully, leaning slightly towards her as the volume of his voice continued to rise. "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me?"

"I...I just feel like...like marrying you would be...giving up! Surrendering! Signing away my free will and admitting that my parents were right all along - that I should do my duty. I'm just not sure I can do that."

Seeing his face fall and his eyes close in defeat, Mary quickly sought to reassure him, however lame her attempt might turn out to be.

"I'm sorry, but I can be terribly stubborn at times. I wish I wasn't, but I am."

"I know," Matthew spoke softly, his voice frighteningly unsteady. "You can also be terribly cruel."

Mary felt tears prick traitorously at her eyes and quickly turned her face away so that she wouldn't see the pain she had inflicted on one she held very dear. Her heart clenched painfully, and for a moment she wished she could tell him she would marry him. Perhaps then the awful veil of anger and hurt that hung so heavily between them would lift, and he would take her in his arms again and all would be right with the world. But, as she had said to him but a few minutes past, things weren't that simple.

"Perhaps, if you give me some time, I will...some day, I will...be ready to consider the possibility. Will you give me that time, Matthew? That's all I can offer you at this moment, however much I might wish it wasn't so."

Breathing a small sigh of relief that she had, at least, given him a small ray of hope, Matthew reached out and took her gloved hand gently in his. His love for her was so great, even in the face of her cruel and changeable nature, that he felt he could simply weep at the thought of never calling her his own. He wanted to look at her, to savor the loveliness of her face for as long as she would allow it, but he feared the burgeoning tears would escape his control if he did.

It took only moments for his desire to win out over his pride, and he opened his watery eyes to gaze upon her face, half shadowed by the rim of her hat and the shade of the overhanging bows. Her brown eyes were wide as a startled doe's, her sweet lips parted as though she were about to speak. Yet she remained silent, holding his gaze as they slowly moved closer to each other until, at last, their lips met.

The kiss started softly, almost chastely, but soon escalated into passion as their bodies remembered the need that had been awakened by their earlier interlude - awakened, but not satisfied.

Overcome by the depth of desire and feeling his kiss awakened, Mary was torn between wanting to assert her independence and wishing she could see things as simply as Matthew did. She _wanted_ to be with him, to call him her own and to be his. There could be no other man in the world she would wish to give herself to intimately. It was just such an impossible situation. Her body thrummed with excitement as she pressed herself against him, desperate for the comfort of his skin against hers, his hands on her body.

Sensing the urgency in her kiss, Matthew gently removed the pin from her hat and tossed the article aside. Mary quickly pulled off her gloves, freeing the sensitive skin of her fingertips to savor the softness of his hair and the roughness of the shadow on his jaw. She pulled at his tie, and the knot gave way under her fingers. The buttons of his shirt were dealt with next. She opened it to the waist and slipped her hands inside, caressing the firmness of his chest.

Mary gently pushed on Matthew's shoulder until he was lying on his back on the blanket. For a moment, she simply gazed down at him, thinking, for the thousandth time, about how beautiful he was to her, and how dear. With hands and lips, she paid homage to the smooth skin of his chest and belly, kissing and nipping at his skin and lightly stroking the soft fur that disappeared into his waistband.

The thought that, one day, this might have to end - that he might not always be hers to touch and to kiss - made Mary desperate. She needed to feel him against her, to know that, at least for now, he was hers alone.

She made short work of the closure of his trousers, pushing them over his hips as her hands and lips moved to tantalize his throbbing flesh.

"_Mary, I need you so_," he breathed as her lips closed over him, sending him into a spiral of dizzying need.

Mary lifted her head and her eyes met his, deep blue and half-closed with desire. For a moment, she remained perfectly still, allowing an intense tide of feeling and need to wash over her as her desperate resolution began to take form.

Reaching under her skirt, she pulled her knickers down her legs and tossed them aside before quickly straddling his hips and lowering herself, pressing her wet center against him.

Matthew whimpered and bucked up against her. His eyes squeezed shut and he bit his lip against the onslaught of need and the force of the temptation to take her - to make her his.

If only he could have known how desperately Mary was fighting the very same temptation, and how rapidly she was losing that fight.

Mary leaned over to tantalize his parted lips with feathery kisses as she gathered her courage for what she knew she had to do. Their teasing interludes and stolen moments over the past months had been mere child's play. They hadn't satisfied, only thrown fuel on the fire. All she could think about was how desperately she wanted him, and how terrified she was the she was going to lose him - that what they had shared these past months was only a dream.

"_'Too flattering sweet to be substantial,''_" she thought. For a fleeting moment, she marveled at the Bard's perfect description of such a moment before all conscious thought ceased and she shifted her hips slightly, positioning him at her virginal entrance.

"Mary..." Matthew warned as he felt himself begin to sink into her, the last vestiges of his self-command fighting to remain still and not push up against her, as he so longed to do.

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Mary shifted again, bringing him further inside her until she felt the resistance of her maidenhead and was forced to pause. She needed this. Needed_ him_. If this was all she could ever have of him, all she could ever give to him, then so be it. They still had the present.

Matthew sucked in a sharp breath as he felt her moist heat swallowing him. For a moment, panic struck as he felt the barrier that he had promised he wouldn't disturb. In a last-ditch effort at control, he gripped her hips with shaking fingers, holding her body still above him.

Mary groaned in frustration at his non-cooperation, and pulled his hands away, pinning them on the ground by his head as she sank lower until her hips rested flush against his. Only a small cry escaped her lips at the sharp tearing pain that seared through her for a fleeting moment before the sheer pleasure and _fullness_ of him overwhelmed her senses. She could only hold herself still above him, lips parted in a silent cry, as she savored the sweet reality of their joining, of him - her Matthew - touching a place deep inside her, filling her, and utterly completing her.

Shock was quickly replaced by the sweetest ecstasy as Matthew felt her body accept him. For better or for worse, she was now completely his. Her body was soft and hot around him. And so, so tight. She fit him like a glove, so perfectly. So utterly right. Her eyes were closed, lips parted. Her breath hitched and he felt her tighten around him as she shifted her hips, slowly discovering and learning the feel of him inside her.

Then her eyes opened, and his control shattered entirely. They were dark, black with arousal and sparkling with excitement and...and...could it be love he saw there in their depths? It must be! He knew it, felt it, in his soul. Perhaps she couldn't bring herself to say the words, but he was sure she had decided to be his. She had given herself to him. She wanted to be his. And she was lovely, and perfect, and sensual above him as she slowly, tentatively rocked against him.

A desperate cry escaped him as he quickly rolled her underneath him and began driving his hips hard against her, feeling her body accept him again and again as the most perfect little gasps flew from her open mouth.

He poured all the longing and love in his heart - all the hurt, the sadness, and the need of the past hour - into each movement as he drove against her, into her. He was vaguely aware that he was moaning her name with each thrust, and that her hands had moved to grasp at the damp skin under his shirt. He felt the heels of her shoes digging into his backside and her legs hooked over his hips as she bucked wantonly against him. His ears were filled with each wordless cry that she uttered - each moan and each gasp. He felt the erratic spasming of her inner muscles around him as she peaked, and he felt himself approaching the edge right behind her.

Pressure and heat began to build at his core, and he curled his arms under her shoulders to hold her as close as possible as he buried his face in her neck.

"Oh, God, Mary!" he cried in her ear. "I'm so close. _So close..._"

Mary's eyes snapped open as reality suddenly flooded into her blissful haze of pleasure. If he...inside her... she could become with child! They would be forced to marry. Everyone would know. She would be disgraced. Their choices would be completely taken away. He couldn't. He just couldn't!

Bracing her arms on his shoulders, she desperately tried to push him off.

"No! Matthew, please don't!"

It took him a moment to register her sudden resistance, but he was able to move away from her (with monumental effort) before it was too late. He pulled up on his knees and gritted his teeth as he soiled his trousers, but received no pleasure from the release. It was almost uncomfortable, as his release had already begun, but wasn't allowed to fully progress. The sudden coolness of the air after the warmth of her body was like a hit to his most tender area, and he quickly righted and closed his trousers against the uncomfortable sensation.

When he looked down, he saw the blood on his waistband. He saw the crimson stain on her inner thighs just before she snapped them shut, rolling onto her side as she frantically pulled at her skirt, trying to cover herself. With one hand, she covered her eyes while the other clutched at her center as the discomfort began to set in.

Concern briefly overwhelming his hurt at her repeated rejection, Matthew reached for his jacket and fumbled with the pockets until he found his handkerchief.

"Mary, I'm so, so sorry," he apologized lamely as he handed her the small, inadequate piece of fabric.

"It was my choice, Matthew," Mary groaned as she accepted his offered handkerchief and sat up, trying to regain as much dignity as she possibly could.

Respectfully, Matthew turned his back as she cleaned herself and replaced her knickers. When she was ready, he helped her to her feet, his heart constricting in guilt and concern as she grimaced in pain at the movement.

"I'm so terribly sorry, my darling," he apologized again as he pulled her still form into his arms. "I was too rough with you."

"Matthew, please stop apologizing. You did nothing I didn't...encourage."

"Please let me walk you back to the house. I'll speak with your father immediately."

Mary's eyes widened in alarm and she pushed herself firmly away from him.

"What? I never gave you permission to speak with Papa! I told you, I need time!" she cried indignantly.

"But...you...we...Mary, don't you see, I just took your...I am now...honor bound to marry you. I will not shirk my duty. I care about you too much."

Turning swiftly away from him, Mary struggled against burgeoning tears. This was exactly what she had feared. She had given herself to him, and, now, he only wanted to marry her out of obligation. It was now his _duty_ to marry her. It was what was _expected, _now more so than ever. Well, she just couldn't accept that. Not from Matthew. Especially not from Matthew.

"Matthew, why do you think I wanted you to...or, rather, not to...?"

Unable to say the word, Mary pursed her lips and made a hand gesture that illustrated her point fairly vividly.

"So, please," she continued, "don't feel obligated to do your precious duty. I'm a big girl. I knew exactly what I was doing. I never expected anything from you."

Matthew was aghast. Her words didn't quite make sense to him. Had she only used him again? Taken what she wanted from him then pushed him away?

With a sinking feeling, he recalled the night in the library when he had pleasured her against the door and she had cruelly spurned his pleas, leaving him to walk home alone in the cold. The next morning she had sent that letter. Had she truly meant the things she had written? Or had she only pretended contrition? Was the letter that he had cherished so closely all these months merely another well-contrived plan to manipulate him? He knew she was cruel, but was she truly _that_ cruel?

He watched her walk gingerly away from him with a heavy heart, feeling as though he had ruined everything. In the space of less than two hours, his entire world had come crashing down around him. Instead of sweeping Mary off her feet with the poetic proposal he had planned, he had blurted his intentions out during an intimate moment when Mary clearly wasn't prepared to receive them. Instead of talking things out, they had gotten carried away, and now the precious memory he had hoped to make of their first time making love as man and wife was all but shot to hell. In its place, he had only the memory of the waking nightmare of this retched, retched day.

And, yet, the memory of how it felt to be inside her haunted him with yet-unfulfilled desire. Now that he knew the exhilaration of their intimate connection, the sweetness of her untethered response, it seemed impossible to simply walk away. There was a large part of him that wished to simply give up, but the deeper part of his heart told him he had to try to win her. It had only been a couple hours, after all. What was his love worth if it could not stand up to adversity? If he gave up on her so easily he would merely be confirming that she was right in refusing him, that he was not worthy of her.

"Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds," he quoted to himself under his breath. "No, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken."

* * *

**A/N2: **Please, don't shoot! *hides behind computer screen* Happily ever after is still on the way! I promise!

By the way, my lovely beta was so good as to call attention to some similarity to a certain re-watch-worthy scene from the Tudors. Thought it might be good to mention that any similarity is purely coincidental in this case, though Jonathan Rhys Meyers' adorable back dimples are certainly inspiring. ;) I just really didn't want to deal with potential pregnancy in this fic, and it seemed the natural way to avoid that sticky issue.

Last thing, I promise. ;) When I started this fic, part of my premise was that if Matthew knew about the KP incident from the beginning Mary would have accepted him as soon as he proposed. Later, I re-watched season 1 and began to have my doubts that she would have. I do think there was more to it than her simply not wanting to tell him. Plus there's the whole "you never know how much you want something until you lose it" thing. I think that might have come into play as well. I'm not saying I know I'm 100% right about that, because there's no way for any of us to know for sure. It's just a theory I'm playing with.

Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Without further ado...**

_Part XV_

Mary stared down at the sealed note in her hands as she tried to puzzle out its possible contents. She recognized Matthew's hand easily enough, but was at a loss as to what he could possibly wish to say to her. Considering the way she had left things after their previous meeting, now two full days ago, she was surprised he would want to contact her at all.

She sighed aloud as she thought back on that day - of their terrible argument and...what followed.

Anna knew. She hadn't been able to hide the blood on her undergarments and dress from her observant maid who was familiar enough with her bodily routines to know it wasn't her monthly courses. It was also impossible to hide her lingering discomfort, or to walk naturally.

So, she had confessed all to the quiet, unassuming maid who was also her dear friend. Anna blushed prettily, but silently listened to Mary's sad tale, nodding and patting her mistress' hand reassuringly throughout. Never once did Anna give any indication that she judged her Mary harshly for her behavior, or that she thought the less of her for it.

"It's not my place to pass judgement on you, milady," Anna had said. "At any rate, I'm glad it was Mr. Matthew, not some unscrupulous rake who would use you and leave you high and dry. Mr. Matthew now...he's a kind man, and he loves you. So, you see, it isn't so very bad."

"Oh, Anna," Mary had groaned, despair causing her eyes to mist and her voice to waver. "If only it were that simple."

After their talk, Anna had run her a steaming hot bath, which eased her soreness considerably, and helped her into her nightgown, promising to inform the family that she had a headache and wouldn't be down for the rest of the day. Mary climbed gratefully into bed, needing the oblivion of sleep to ease the ache in her heart as well as her body.

Before Anna closed the door behind her to allow her mistress to rest, she had turned back to ask one last pressing question.

"Lady Mary, I was wond'ring if...what you told me today 'bout Mr. Matthew...might have something to do with the several pairs of knickers that have turned up missing recently?"

Returning her thoughts to the present, Mary allowed a fond smile to linger on her lips for a moment longer before slipping her finger under the edge of the envelope and breaking the seal. She pulled out a single sheet of inexpensive white stationary and read the lines Matthew had copied in his neat, masculine hand.

_Being your slave, what should I do but tend_

_Upon the hours and times of your desire?_

_I have no precious time at all to spend,_

_Nor services to do, till you require;_

_Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,_

_Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,_

_Nor think the bitterness of absence sour_

_When you have bid your servant once adieu;_

_Nor dare I question with my jealous thought_

_Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,_

_But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught_

_Save where you are how happy you make those._

_So true a fool is love that in your will,_

_Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. *_

* * *

Two days of marinading in disappointment and frustration had driven Matthew to desperate measures. He hadn't seen or heard from Mary since their ill-fated encounter after the flower show, and, though his resolution to have her for his wife was still as firm as it had ever been, he grew increasingly hopeless as he tried to work out just how he was going to make that happen. It would be easy to simply walk over to the Abbey and request an audience with Lord Grantham, confess what they had done, and state his intention to do the honorable thing. Yet, he hated the thought of beginning their marriage under such conditions. If he forced her hand, Mary might never forgive him, and he wasn't prepared to take that risk.

Basic common sense told him he should court and woo her, but hadn't he been doing some rather unconventional version of that all along? He was fairly confident that it wasn't _him_ that was the problem, but rather his position and the expectations tacked onto it that held Mary back from giving him her whole heart. There was no way out of that, no matter how much he might wish for the simpler life he had always planned on. Somehow, he would need to convince Mary to put aside everything besides their feelings for one another and move forward from there.

At a loss, he turned to the works of Shakespeare for distraction and, with any luck, inspiration.

The more he thought back on his relationship with Mary, the more her treatment of him stung. He had always despised those members of his own sex who treated women as objects of pleasure and very little besides. Now he felt as though he were the one being treated thus unfairly. It hurt, there was no denying it. After two days of coming home to a quiet house where he saw Mary in every chair and every hallway -in the dining room, in his study, in his bathtub, in his bed - he was torn somewhere between bitterness and longing.

It was in such a state that he picked up his father's tattered copy of Shakespeare's sonnets and flipped it open at random. The third sonnet he read expressed his feelings beautifully, and he read it over and over under his breath.

"_Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire?" _ He chuckled darkly to himself. "Fitting."

The tongue-in-cheek likening of the speaker to a slave and his unattainable lady as his "sovereign" made Matthew feel somewhat vindicated.

Seizing onto his sudden moment of inspiration, he grabbed stationary and a pen and copied the sonnet down in his neatest hand before slipping it into an envelope addressed to the Abbey - to Mary. He hoped the sonnet would serve the dual purpose of garnering her sympathy for his plight and romancing her with the Bard's persuasive language. If he accomplished nothing else, she would, at least, be reminded of him. He needed to keep himself in her thoughts, somehow, while he patiently allowed her the time she said she needed to be able to consider their future together. It had occurred to him to spend more time up a the great house, or to send flowers, candy, or other small tokens, but none of this could be accomplished without garnering the attention of the family. Slipping her little notes here and there would be much more easily accomplished, and, he hoped, equally as effective.

Two more days passed in which he neither saw nor heard from Mary. Finally, a dinner invitation from Lord Grantham would bring him back into her presence.

He was dreadfully nervous. How could he not be? He had no way of predicting how Mary would behave around him, nor did he have any indication of how she had received his note. He didn't dare hope that she may already have had a change of heart, but if she treated him with total indifference he wasn't sure how he would stand it.

Before departing, he tucked a little scrap of paper with yet another nugget of genius from his good friend, Master Shakespeare, into his pocket in case the situation called for it. And he suspected- or, rather, feared- it might.

* * *

Mary wasn't completely sure what to make of the sonnet Matthew had sent her. She couldn't know in what spirit he had sent it. Surely, he didn't truly mean those words...or think he meant them. In all likelihood, he had copied them in much the same spirit the writer had been in when they were first penned - bitterness.

Matthew had every right to be bitter. She had treated him abominably, she knew. His feelings and wishes hadn't been received as he had hoped, and, to top it off, she done something that had only raised his hopes to be crushed yet again. The look on his face as she pushed him away...The hurt in his brilliant eyes as she told him, again, that she couldn't marry him...She was haunted by the hurt she had caused to one she held so very dear. Matthew _was_ dear to her, infinitely so. She was now more convinced than she had ever been that what she felt for him was love. Love of the deepest, truest kind.

After giving him her maidenhead, a part of her had hoped that consummating their relationship would satisfy her need for him, putting an end to unwanted speculation about their future together for good. How very wrong she had been! It had only made her want - no, need - him more. It had only proven to her the lasting, unconquerable nature of her feelings.

The intervening days without his presence had seemed interminably long. Yet, as she prepared for dinner on the evening when she was finally to see him again, the moment seemed to have come too soon. How could she face him after what she had done? He must think her the worst kind of woman - the kind that gave herself to a man with no thought of marriage. Matthew was a good, honorable man. To him, what they had done meant something much deeper than physical pleasure. She understood that now. Yes, he was now, in his mind, obligated to marry her, but perhaps not all obligation was something to be despised.

Anna was obligated to assist her in any way she required, yet Mary considered her a friend and enjoyed the kind and sincere manner in which Anna performed her duties. The fact that her position as a paid employee dictated she perform such services didn't minimize the sweetness, the caring, with which they were performed. Mary sometimes even felt that, were Anna not obligated to be kind and generous with her, the kind-hearted maid would treat her in much the same way. Perhaps it would be the same with Matthew.

Such hopeful thoughts buoyed her heart as she made her way down to join the party in the parlor. Once the reality of Matthew's emending arrival crashed in upon her, these good feelings were pushed aside.

She sat uneasily on the edge of her chair, twisting her fingers nervously together as she waited. How would Matthew behave towards her? Would he look at her differently now? Could she bear it with equanimity if he despised her?

Her feelings had taken such a turn towards worry and agitation that she physically started when Matthew and Isobel were announced.

Mary saw the sleeve of his black tailcoat come into view, and quickly averted her eyes, unable to bear the sight of disappointment or disgust on his darling face. He must hate her now. How could he not? Eventually she would have to face his disdain, but not yet. She would have to wait until she was sure she could bear it, or at least until there was no audience to witness her disgrace.

Upon entering the parlor, Matthew's eyes immediately sought Mary's form. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but, when she instantly turned her face away from him, refusing to even look once in his direction, he began to feel ill. Oh, how she must despise him! Apparently his note hadn't made the impression he had hoped. Or, perhaps, she couldn't forgive him for breaking her cardinal rule and taking what should have been the prerogative of a husband. She must have thought it terribly presumptuous of him.

The fact that it had been done by her own hand and of her own will no longer seemed very significant.

He paused for a moment as the party rose to move into the dining room in hopes of catching her eye, but she kept her face carefully averted. His heart sank. It seemed that his hopes of finding a chance to begin his courtship had been in vain. He would be lucky to receive any acknowledgement from her whatsoever.

As they entered the dining room, Mary quickly seated herself between the Dowager Countess, and Sybil, effectively ensuring that she didn't subject Matthew to her unwanted company. She was relieved when he took a seat on the same side of the table as hers, so that they weren't in each other's line of sight.

Putting on a forced smile, Mary turned to her grandmother, hoping to be distracted with conversation, only to find the great lady eyeing her intently, one silver eyebrow eloquently arched. Apparently the tension between herself and Matthew hadn't gone completely unnoticed. She quickly tucked into the soup that had been set before her, filling her mouth so that she wouldn't be expected to speak.

"Mary, dear," the Dowager began, her voice lowered for only Mary's ears, "sometimes it is better to face our problems head-on, rather than studiously avoiding them to the point of rudeness. Cowardice doesn't become you."

"I cannot imagine what you mean, Granny," she replied cooly, her eyes fixed on the table setting in front of her.

"Of course you don't," the older woman continued. "If you have an infected tooth, you must concentrate very, very hard on ignoring it, and the problem will simply disappear."

Mary discreetly rolled her eyes at her grandmother's sarcastic tone, and continued eating, though she barely tasted anything. Fortunately, the Dowager soon turned her attention to Lady Grantham and plans for Sybil's upcoming debut season, while Sybil became absorbed in conversation about the hospital with Isobel. Mary found herself required to say very little throughout the meal, for which she was overwhelmingly grateful.

At the other end of the table, Matthew was trying desperately not to appear distracted as he conversed with Robert and Cousin Edith, but he feared he was failing miserably. This suspicion was confirmed when Robert turned towards him with a worried look and asked quietly if he were well. Matthew was able to recover his spirits just enough to pass his lack of attention off as the result of a difficult day at work. Robert accepted his excuse with good grace and allowed the matter to drop. Matthew's eyes remained locked on Mary's back as the ladies removed themselves to the drawing room, leaving him to feign interest in estate matters for a quarter hour while nursing a much-needed glass of brandy.

Once ensconced in temporary safety in the drawing room, Mary drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, hoping to calm her nerves. It worked, but only for a brief moment. As the minutes ticked by with alarming speed, she began to long for the safety of her room.

"Mama, perhaps I should go up. I feel...a headache coming on. I'm afraid I shall be very poor company."

"Of course, darling, if you..."

"Edith, dear, please fetch your sister a glass of sherry." All eyes turned towards the Dowager Countess at her interruption. "That should put her to rights."

Turning a pointed look on Mary, she added, "it's far too early to retreat."

Mary accepted the proffered drink gratefully, though she wished it were something stronger.

Too soon, the men entered, ending Mary's temporary reprieve. She pretended to be engrossed in her mother's and Edith's conversation about what new gowns would need to be ordered once they arrived in London so that she wouldn't have to look in Matthew's direction.

Matthew felt her cut keenly, though he tried with all his might not to show how much. He was becoming desperate for any of her notice, any at all. His arms nearly ached to hold her, yet, at that moment, he would have been satisfied with one of her heartrending smiles.

As his patience with her cool facade began to wane, his determination grew. By the time his mother made their excuses and rose to leave, he had resolved not to end the evening without forcing Mary to look at him at least once. There was also something he wished to give her.

As Isobel and Matthew excused themselves, Mary rose and made her way over to the window, hoping to pass her sudden preoccupation off as a need for some cool air. The temptation to look, just once, in Matthew's direction before they left was too great, and she feared for her composure should he fail to return her glance, or worse - should he look on her with distaste.

She was shocked, therefore, by the light touch of a warm, strong hand on her elbow.

There was no avoiding him. He was so close. She could almost feel the heat of his body and the gentle breeze of his breath against the side of her face as he spoke her name. Steeling herself for what she might find, she met his gaze and released an involuntary sigh of relief. His eyes were hard, but not unkind or hateful. The fact that he had sought her out at all told her that it was not as she had feared. He, at least, didn't completely despise her.

The moment came and passed quickly, before Mary had a chance to respond properly. There was a quick press of his hand against hers, a whisper of a goodbye, a graceful bow, and he was gone.

The drawing room door clicked shut behind the departed guests, and its remaining inhabitants resumed their previous conversations.

Mary uncurled her fist and gasped softly when she discovered a folded scrap of paper there.

_Matthew._

Her breath sped as she turned back to the window and unfolded the paper to read the quickly-penned lines therein.

_I am your spaniel; and,_

_The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:_

_Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,_

_Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,_

_Unworthy as I am, to follow you._

_What worse place can I beg in your love,-_

_And yet a place of high respect with me,-_

_Than to be used as you use your dog? ** _

Biting her lip to contain her shock at the bitter words he had chosen, she quickly hid the note inside her glove. Later that night, she would read those words again and again, finding herself consumed with guilt over the pain she had caused him. She wasn't sure what his notes meant, both the first sonnet and the excerpt he had left her that evening, but she was beginning to despair of him ever finding it in his heart to fully forgive her foolishness.

_*Sonnet LVII, William Shakespeare _

_** from A Midsummer Night's Dream_

* * *

**A/N: **Well, the angst is still there, but at least it's changed direction somewhat. Only two or three chapters left to go before everything is resolved. :)_  
_

Thanks for reading! If you have a moment to let me know what you thought I would greatly appreciate it!


	16. Chapter 16

_Part XVI_

As the days turned into weeks, Mary began to expect Matthew's little notes, always quotes from one Shakespearean work or other. They varied in length as well as in tone, presumably depending on Matthew's frame of mind at the time of sending. If the evidence before her was to be believed, he was vacillating frequently between forgiving her and continuing in his (justified) bitterness.

Nearly a fortnight passed before she saw him again. She had been sitting on her favorite bench with a book in her lap. Though she had retreated out of doors with every intention of reading said book, she had scarcely made any progress. She could think of nothing but Matthew.

She missed him desperately. It they were married, or even engaged, they could spend more time together. His company was infinitely more interesting than any book, even if all they did with their lips was talk. And it was entirely her fault that he was avoiding her, for what else would have prevented his appearing at the Abbey for an entire fortnight?

As if conjured by her very thoughts, Matthew suddenly appeared before her, his smile brighter and his eyes more open and friendly than she had seen in weeks. He greeted her cheerfully and tipped his hat, drawing a happy smile from her in return. He looked boyish, charming, and utterly kissable. How she wished she had accepted the privilege of calling him her own when it had been offered her! At the moment - and, truthfully, for the past fortnight - she could think of nothing more important than having him for her husband.

But how was she to go about telling him that? She couldn't even be sure that he still wanted her, or that he had forgiven her. And it wasn't even as if he had officially proposed. How could she simply bring up the topic, hoping to meet with an agreeable response? No, it would be too humiliating. Even after all the that she had done to prove the contrary, she was still a lady. She hadn't fallen so far as to think of raising the topic of marriage herself. She would simply have to be as encouraging as she possibly could, wait, and hope for the best.

"Mind if I join you?" Matthew asked shyly as he slowly approached.

"Of course not," Mary responded, her smile growing brighter as he announced his intention to spend time in her company. She was already seated in the center of the bench, but she made no move to give him more room, wishing to be as close to him as possible.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each absorbing the other's presence. It had been so long since they had last been together. Too long, in Mary's opinion. She could feel the heat of his body so close beside hers, smell his spicy aftershave, and hear his gentle exhalations close to her ear. All she wanted at the moment was to bask in it - in his very presence. Her heart began to flutter wildly. She wanted to touch him, but felt that she had given up that right. Could she ever reclaim it? Would he give her that chance?

"You know I...I considered pretending I came here looking for your father," Matthew broke the silence, "but I decided, instead, to be honest with both myself and with you. I admit that I came...to see you."

"Me?" Mary asked in surprise, delicate eyebrows arching. "I see."

"Yes," Matthew responded, his smile growing wider as he leaned almost imperceptibly closer to her. "I was hoping we could start over. That we could be...friends."

Mary's face instantly fell, but she carefully schooled her expression into a cheerful smile before meeting his eyes again. Was Matthew trying to tell her that it was over? that all he wanted to be now and in the future was friends? Of course he couldn't completely sever the connection, however much he might wish to. If there was to be peace between them a friendship would a have to be cultivated. Perhaps this was his way of letting her know that he had decided not to renew his addresses, that it was time for both of them to move on.

They continued to converse about mundane things, ordinary things, while Mary's heart was breaking into thousands of peaces inside her chest. Regret tore at each of her heartstrings until it seemed the useless organ would rend itself entirely free and drop off somewhere in the empty cavity of her chest to shrivel up and rot away as she watched Matthew, one day, move on to another woman - one actually deserving of him. Foolishly, she had hesitated, and she had lost her one chance at true happiness. The future began to look very bleak indeed; a future without Matthew, without love...without even the hope of it. Only now did she see and feel the true folly she had embraced when she so coldly dismissed his love and his hopes for _them._...now that there was no longer a_ them_ to speak of.

"I'm sure the house is in an uproar, what with all the preparations for Sybil's first season. She must be looking forward to it with a great deal of anticipation." Matthew's voice broke through Mary's dismal thoughts, forcing her to attend their conversation. She did not yet have the luxury of falling apart. That would have to wait until later.

"I'm afraid Mama is more excited than Sybil is," she forced herself to respond pleasantly. "The dear girl has discovered politics, which, of course, makes Papa see red."

"I suppose I should ask her to save me a dance at her ball," Matthew continued after a moment's pause, causing Mary's heart to race alarmingly. Could he mean to pursue Sybil? She hoped to God it wasn't so.

"You too, if you don't mind," he added, alleviating Mary's distress somewhat. Of course, he would ask Sybil to save him a dance. He was her cousin, after all. No reason to be alarmed. He would probably ask Edith as well. It _was_ the polite thing to do.

"Not at all," Mary answered cooly. "I'll save you the first, if that's alright. Papa has already claimed Sybil's first, of course."

"I would be honored to open the ball with you, Mary. Thank you."

Mary nodded her acknowledgment, and the pair fell silent for several moments.

"Do you remember Evelyn Napier?" Mary asked suddenly. She had the satisfaction of seeing Matthew momentarily surprised by her sudden mention of her former suitor.

"I believe so."

"He's bringing his new fiance to the ball," Mary explained, her voice nonchalant. "I'm very much looking forward to making her acquaintance."

"Is that so?" Matthew asked absently, suddenly intent upon studying the grass at his feet. "Well, I should probably be on my way. I'd like to look in on your father while I'm here."

With that, Matthew rose suddenly to his feet and made to move back in the direction of the path.

"Good day, Mary."

He smiled and tipped his hat to her one last time before turning and striding away in the direction of the house. Mary forced a casual smile and waved a hand in his direction. She watched his retreating back until he was out of sight before finally allowing her smile to fade.

* * *

Matthew prepared with extra care the evening of Sybil's ball, hoping that Mary would be proud to be seen on his arm. He had been looking forward to opening the ball with her since she had offered him her first dance of the evening. It meant he could reasonably stand next to her in the receiving line, giving him an opportunity to stare down any and all other males who might possibly conceive of any designs on Mary. She was his, and he would see to it that others knew it.

He did briefly worry that Mary would be angry with him for standing in the way of other potential suitors, and decided that, if she seemed to not want him around, he would give her the space she wanted. Still, he knew his eyes would rarely stray from her that evening. She was sure to look stunning in her ball gown, and he would be damned if allowed any man to importune her in any way.

Matthew descended the stairs slowly, pausing when he caught sight of her standing in the entryway below. She was breathtaking, a vision in lavender silk and black lace draped elegantly over the trim curves of her figure, highlighting her most alluring assets provocatively. Her creamy shoulders were completely bared, the thin straps of her gown offering no protection from his hungry gaze. For a moment, he stood transfixed on the staircase before finding himself drawn inevitably towards her, fingers flexing and curling with the almost compulsive need to claim with his hands what his eyes were busy devouring.

She noticed him them, and turned gracefully in his direction. Those sable eyes fixed upon his person, making his knees weaken with need. He had seen lust in her gaze enough times to recognize it for what it was. Just the knowledge that she might return his desire made his skin dampen under his fine new tail coat.

His eyes searched hers as he raised her gloved hand to his lips for a kiss that was more a caress than a social pleasantry. He wanted to remove that glove - to watch the ebony silk slip slowly down her slender arm, revealing inch after inch of impossibly soft skin to his gaze. His lips would follow its path, tasting and savoring her delicate softness. Suddenly, the memory of what it had been like to be...joined with her, his body buried deep inside her tight heat, intruded, making his breath catch. He would have to propose to her soon. The wait was becoming almost unbearable, restraint nearly impossible. He hoped that the rising blush on her cheeks and the barely perceptible increase in the rise and fall of her bosom meant that she also experienced such longings.

If he had his way, no other man would taste her passion for as long as he drew breath.

He felt that he had given her the time she requested. He had been as patient as he possibly could have been, keeping their interactions on a purely platonic level. His goal for the weeks spent forced into the purgatory of not being able to touch and hold her had been met to his satisfaction. They had forged somewhat of a friendship, unhampered by their past mistakes or...intimacies. They were on congenial terms. Had been for several weeks. Perhaps it was time. Perhaps she was ready to move forward with him as a permanent fixture in her life, more than just as her father's heir.

They stood side by side in the receiving line, Matthew's hand occasionally resting on the small of Mary's back. He could hardly help himself, the need to touch her was so intense. The fragrance of her perfume tormented him as it mingled with her natural musk, so familiar and so heady. He could scarcely wait until their dance when he could hold her close to him, and have her undivided attention on him, for several minutes together. Robert introduced him to a variety of undoubtedly important people - acquaintances, distant relations, other members of the peerage - and he answered each greeting mechanically. All his attention, however, was on the siren at his side.

Matthew felt incredibly proud to lead Mary out onto the floor for the opening dance. As he wrapped his hand around her slender waist and pulled her closer than he probably should have, his eyes were drawn inevitably to her slightly parted lips, so pink and so soft. So tempting. Even in the middle of a crowded ballroom, where hundreds of eyes followed their movements, he imagined taking her mouth with his...then taking her to his bed. Dancing became increasingly uncomfortable as his trousers tightened.

He wondered if Mary noticed. He almost hoped that she did.

"Mary, you look ravishing this evening," he spoke softly for her ears only.

"Thank you," she answered with a smirk. "You look rather dashing yourself."

"I can't help suspecting that I'm the envy of every other gentleman in the room at this moment. No doubt many have already plotted to spirit you away from me at the earliest possible opportunity."

A beatific smile lit up Mary's delicate face, and Matthew couldn't help wishing to keep that smile in place for the remainder of the night.

"I feel I should warn you, my fair Andromeda, that this sea monster has no intention of surrendering you... to Perseus, or anyone else for that matter. I'm afraid you'll just have to accustom yourself to bondage."

A warm laugh escaped her then as she cast her eyes demurely downwards.

"Oh, Matthew...I can't believe you still remember that."

"How could I forget?" he responded, leaning ever so slightly closer to her and angling his face towards hers. "The image of you...naked...bound hand and foot in chains for my enjoyment...has haunted me since that moment. God Mary, surely you knew what you were doing to me."

"I hadn't the slightest idea of my words affecting you so profoundly," she answered, her voice deep and breathy.

"Tell yourself what you wish," he shot back. "I know what passion lies behind that polished exterior."

The remainder of their first dance was spent in silence as they merely basked in their closeness and in the electricity that flowed between them. Too soon, the start of the next dance forced them apart, and Matthew was required to relinquish Mary to the arms of some pompous old marquess. He had already promised Edith the second, so he quickly collected her, keeping them as close to Mary and her partner as possible.

He only lasted through two more dances before it was all too much, and he was compelled to Mary's side once again. He asked her to partner with him once more, but was thwarted by none other than Mary's own father, who had already secured his desired dance. At least, he thought, it was her father, not another lusty young peer with wandering eyes and questionable hand placement.

The hours passed with torturous slowness, for both Mary and her frustrated lover. Their eyes continually met over the fray, though they were scarcely allowed near one another by the constant demands of socialization. Matthew wished fervently that he had renewed his proposal before this night, that he had been able to let all the other men in the room know that she was his fiance..._his..._and that they didn't even stand a chance.

* * *

Mary had been watching Matthew for some time - watching him watch her. She hated having to dance with gentleman after gentleman, none of which interested or intrigued her in the least. They were invariably either boring, pretentious, or downright uncomfortable to be that close to. Her dance with Evelyn was the only exception, but even he wasn't Matthew.

_Ah, Matthew._

His provocative words during their one lovely dance still rang in her ears with all the allure of a siren's song, and she was nearly helpless against their pull. Her eyes were constantly drawn to him, always to be met by his own burning gaze. The tension between them was an almost palpable thing: a mist hanging heavily in the air between them, obscuring their view of all else but one another.

She had worried - agonized, really - for weeks over his declaration that they should try to be friends. Friends they had been. Wonderful, bosom friends. But there was still more there. She was confident now that he still desired her as she did him. The evidence of his desire had, more than once, brushed against her hip as he had held her too close during their dance, and her own body had responded rather violently. The dampness in her undergarments still served as a reminder of the perfect moment they had shared.

_Dear Matthew._

Her Perseus...for a sea monster he certainly was not. How wrong she had been to suggest it! How blind! How prideful and how foolish! There was nothing remotely hideous about Matthew. He was strong, and beautiful, and captivating. He was _everything_. How could she ever have thought to live her life without him? His presence by her side and in her life was as necessary as air or water. Her desire for him was all-consuming.

_Her Matthew._

Jealously surged through Mary as she watched him approach an attractive blonde lady and draw her into his arms for a dance. She watched as the young woman assessed him with appreciative eyes and made some witty remark that drew a laugh from her handsome partner. Mary was forced to bite her lip to keep from visibly sneering, though she couldn't bring herself to focus on her partner. Then Matthew's eyes turned in her direction. His lips curved into a teasing grin, and she quickly averted her eyes once more.

Matthew's dance with Sybil so happened to be the one just before supper, so he was obliged to escort her in to the dining room, as well as be seated beside her for the meal. Mary found herself ensconced on the opposite end of the table, forced to endure the prattling of an aging baronet on one side and a wealthy widow on the other. Upon returning to the ball room, she thought she saw Matthew start towards her, but he was intercepted by none other than his own mother, whom he partnered for the next dance.

The evening dragged on with painful slowness. They met once over the punch bowl. Mary allowed him to pour her a glass, which she sipped delicately under his heated stare. His lips parted - to ask her for another dance, she hoped - but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by her father who wished him to join in on a conversation taking place between several land-owning gentleman. Matthew sighed regretfully, to her satisfaction, and gave her a small smile before he left her side.

At last, the final dance of the evening was announced. Mary breathed an internal sigh of relief that it was almost over. The evening had been impossibly long, yet not long enough. She had only had a single dance with Matthew, and he was returning to Downton the next day. Just the thought of being parted from him so soon made her heart clench with longing.

Mary started as she felt the pressure of a warm hand slip around her waist, and she fell against a firm chest. A little gasp escaped her before she realized in whose arms she was being held. She would recognize his scent anywhere.

_Matthew._

"Finally," he spoke low in her ear as he maneuvered her into a more traditional hold. "I practically raced several other chaps to get to you first, but it was worth it."

Mary laughed quietly in response and lightly squeezed his shoulder. Finally, _finally_, she was in his arms again. And, again, he was holding her closer than he should. Or had she stepped closer? She couldn't be sure.

Her eyes rose to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze caused her breath to catch. After a moment, he inclined his head closer to hers. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, could smell the wine on his breath.

"I've been driven absolutely mad tonight...having to watch you dance with other men," he began, his voice deep and slightly rough. "Mary...I don't want you to ever think of anybody else again."

Her breathing accelerated, and her eyes sought his for clarification of his words.

"I want you for my own, still...always," he whispered thickly, and Mary closed her eyes to take in those beautiful, blessed words. Words she had so longed to hear, yet had despaired of ever hearing.

"_Marry me."_

The words washed over her like a cleansing flood. Her body trembled in his hold.

_Yes! Yes! _her mind screamed, but the words seemed caught in her throat.

Before anything more could be said between them, the music ended, and the cacophony of hundreds of voices uttering goodnights and final well-wishes shattered their semi-privacy. The Countess called Mary's name from across the room, and they were, again, forced to part.

"Later," she mouthed to him as she turned on unsteady legs to answer the summons.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry (not!) about the ending! Don't worry, things will be somewhat resolved in the next chapter. ;)


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: **Here it is, folks. As always, big thanks to Willa Dedalus for letting me ramble on and for setting me on the right path when I start to stray. _

_Slight kink and language warning for this chapter. ;)  
_

_Last time:_

_"I feel I should warn you, my fair Andromeda, that this sea monster has no intention of surrendering you... to Perseus, or anyone else for that matter. I'm afraid you'll just have to accustom yourself to bondage."_

_A warm laugh escaped her then as she cast her eyes demurely downwards._

_"Oh, Matthew...I can't believe you still remember that."_

_"How could I forget?" he responded, leaning ever so slightly closer to her and angling his face towards hers. "The image of you...naked...bound hand and foot in chains for my enjoyment...has haunted me since that moment. God Mary, surely you knew what you were doing to me."_

_"I hadn't the slightest idea of my words affecting you so profoundly," she answered, her voice deep and breathy._

_"Tell yourself what you wish," he shot back. "I know what passion lies behind that polished exterior..."_

* * *

Part XVII

Mary hoped Anna would attribute her trembling hands and agitated breathing to fatigue brought on by the night's exertions. If the patient maid noticed anything unusual about her lady's behavior, she didn't comment, but assisted Mary into a clean nightgown and brushed out her long hair quietly and efficiently before breathing a quiet "goodnight" and slipping from the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mary rose from her place at the vanity and donned her dressing gown, securing it with a neat bow at her waist. She breathed deeply several times, hoping to calm her nerves before going to Matthew's room. He hadn't invited her. In fact, they had scarcely said two words to one another after his whispered proposal during their dance - a proposal she had yet to find the proper moment to answer.

She knew that there was only one answer her heart would allow her to give. One answer that would forever secure her happiness and his. Nothing mattered but _them._ Finally, she understood that. It had taken her a while to get there, but, at last, she was ready to put her ridiculous pride aside and answer the calling of her heart.

Mary forced herself to wait several minutes to be sure all the servants had retired for the night before opening the door and stepping silently into the hall.

* * *

Matthew knew sleep wouldn't come easily that night. He longed for a glass (or three) of brandy to settle his frayed nerves. Part of him wished he had kept quiet and waited for an appropriate time to bring up the subject of the future again, but it seemed that his enthusiasm for Mary often outweighed his self-control when he was close to her. If only he had some inkling of what she was thinking at that very moment. If only he could be sure that she intended to accept him...

The light creaking of the door's hinges as it slowly swung open pulled Matthew rather abruptly from his worrisome thoughts, and he turned quickly from his place gazing out the window at the dimly-lit street below to see Mary, achingly beautiful in her night attire, slip into his room and pull the door closed behind her. Her back was to him as she quickly turned the key in the lock, resting her hands on the polished wood surface before turning a glowing smile his way.

Mary's smile grew as she watched Matthew slowly make his way to her side. Her eyes greedily took in his disheveled appearance. He had stripped down to only his trousers and shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was so perfectly handsome and desirable...and he was hers, on this night and forever after.

Love and contentment swelled inside her heart. Her cheeks almost hurt from smiling so broadly, but she couldn't stop. She was just _so_ happy.

Unable to stand the distance between them any longer, Mary took the final few steps towards him, throwing her arms around his neck as his wrapped around her waist, lifting her against his warm body.

"Oh, Matthew...my own darling."

_"Mary."_

Matthew worried that she would feel his body's trembling as he held her and soaked in her affectionate words. He could scarcely believe it could be true, that he could ever be so fortunate, but...

"Am I to take this behavior as a 'yes'?" he asked hopefully.

"Not just yet," Mary responded with an arch look as she pulled out of his arms.

Matthew gazed dumbly at her, confused by her unexpected withdrawal, and terrified that she wasn't going to accept him, or that she might ask him to wait longer for her.

"First, you must say it properly," she continued in a teasing tone. Seeing his confusion, she clarified, "I won't answer unless you... kneel down, and ask me properly."

Worry dissolved into amusement as Matthew caught onto her game. Mary..._his _Mary...was teasing him. If she had meant to refuse, she would have done so directly, and probably not in his bedroom in the small hours of the morning. Instead, she teased him. Joy flooded his entire being as the reality that she was about to truly become his began to fill his mind.

He returned her teasing look with one of his own before dropping to one knee and taking her delicate hands in his.

Making a big show of breathing deeply and clearing his throat, he began.

"Lady... Andromeda, will you accept this hideous sea monster as your lord and master for all eternity?"

"Matthew Crawley, this is not a joke!" she exclaimed, tugging her hands free and turning back towards the door. Mary was honestly put out with Matthew for making light of her request that he properly propose to her, and had been about to leave him to ponder his misstep as his arms closed around her from behind, holding her trapped against his firm body.

"Where do you think you're going, my love?" he whispered huskily in her ear. "You're mine...My sacrifice...My slave. And I haven't finished with you yet."

Mary felt her anger quickly dissipate as his soft lips began moving over the sensitive skin just under her ear. Desire rushed in to fill the void, potent and all-consuming, leaving her helpless against his assault.

His hands moved to the sash of her dressing gown, tugging it free. Mary felt the fabric slip from her shoulders and float to the ground, leaving her covered only by a single layer of very thin ivory silk. Her nipples hardened and pushed against their thin covering despite the balminess of the summer air.

A helpless whimper escaped her parted lips as she felt the material of her gown inch slowly upwards, baring her legs...hips...belly...

"Raise your arms," Matthew commanded huskily, pushing his burgeoning arousal against her now bare bottom.

Mary complied, and in only a few seconds, found herself completely bare in Matthew's arms. She shivered in sensual delight, relishing the rough feel of his shirt and trousers against the bare skin of her back while his warm hands moved over the front of her. He cupped her breasts, one in each hand, and lightly teased her with his thumbs. Unable to stand any more of this sweet torment, Mary turned in his arms with a groan and pressed her lips to his. Her hands fisted in his hair, mussing its perfectly-combed style.

For several minutes, Matthew indulged himself in the sweetness of her willing mouth, his tongue plundering and tasting as his hands reacquainted themselves with her soft curves. Never breaking from the temptation of her tongue and lips, he turned, backing her up against the four-poster bed. He felt her start as the cool surface of one of the wooden posts touched her bare skin, but never did her lips break from his.

Forcing himself to relinquish his hold on her for the time being, Matthew gently removed her hands from his hair, holding them in one of his own as the other reached into his trouser pocket to collect the sash, which he had secretly placed there while Mary was turned away from him. Using the long piece of silk, he tied her wrists together, then secured them to the bed post over her head.

"Matthew, what..." she started to protest, only to be silenced by a searing kiss.

After crushing his lips to hers for a long moment, Matthew stepped back to admire his handiwork. What he saw pleased him exceedingly well. It was his fantasy come to life; the reality was breathtaking beyond his wildest imaginings.

Instinctively, Mary struggled against the bonds that held her prisoner, feeling vulnerable and helpless in her exposed state. Excitement tempered with only a twinge of fear shot through her, making her body tremble in the flickering lamplight. Her eyes returned to Matthew's face, seeking an explanation. He was grinning lecherously at her, his steely eyes roaming her exposed body with obvious lust. Her own desire flared as his hands masterfully pulled the tail of his shirt from his waistband and began undoing the buttons with teasing slowness. He fixed a predatory gaze on her as he slowly began moving closer until he hovered over her, one hand gripping the bed post above her head.

Mary's lips curved into a playful grin as she decided to play his game. She quickly hid her smile behind the curtain of her hair, dropping her gaze and turning her head as much away from him as she could in her bound position.

"Perseus will rescue me," she gasped breathily as his hot breath tickled her cheek.

His fingers brushed lightly over her belly, and she quivered in response. Mary squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lower lip, forcing herself not to cry out as those same fingers teased lower...lower...

_"Agh! God!" _

Matthew grinned as he masterfully stroked her, feeling her heat and wetness and knowing she wanted him - that she was enjoying this. His Mary was such a passionate creature. He had seen that she was trying to remain silent, to show no outward sign of her pleasure, and had known exactly how to strip her of her defenses.

Dipping his head, he wrapped his lips around one puckered nipple, teasing and laving it with his tongue as his fingers continued to drive her wild with need, bringing her nearly to the edge of completion, but not allowing her to find release.

"You're cruel...a monster!" Mary cried as he removed his fingers from her entirely, leaving her throbbing and needy.

"Say 'yes.'"

"What?" Mary asked, confused by his sudden command.

"Say 'yes'...and I'll release you. Then, I'll be _your_ slave."

"Ask properly," Mary stubbornly replied. She wanted the memory of Matthew's marriage proposal to hold onto always. Despite a tendency to flout tradition when it suited her, Mary had always envisaged a traditional marriage proposal, and she wasn't quite ready to give up on her dream. She also wasn't ready for him to release her. For a typically gentle and restrained man, Matthew was surprisingly aggressive lover, a facet of his character she had come to greatly value.

"I don't think you're in a position to made demands, my lovely Andromeda," he whispered menacingly in her ear as his hands kneaded the soft flesh of her bottom, pulling her against him. Her bare chest pressed against his where his shirt hung open. The heat from his body felt delicious beyond expression, and Mary wanted more.

Luckily for her, Matthew was also reaching the limits of his endurance. In tormenting her, he also tormented himself. Deciding a change of tactic was in order, he trailed feathery kisses over her neck and shoulder as his hands hastily unfastened his trousers and undergarments, allowing them to pool around his ankles. Instantly, his hands wrapped around her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he pushed into her in one quick, forceful thrust.

Both cried out as they came together. Matthew kept still for several moments, willing himself to remain in control.

"Oh, Mary...Mary..." he whimpered into her fragrant hair between tender kisses, all thought of their previous roll-play completely set aside.

Mary tightened the grip of her legs around him, wrapping her hands around the bedpost and using the leverage to grind her hips against his, encouraging him to move as well. With a groan, Matthew complied, slowly at first, but quickly building speed as he lost himself in the bliss of being so deliciously encased in her tight heat. Mary writhed against him as he drove into her, relishing the delicious sounds of Matthew's quiet groans and the repeated slapping of their bodies as they came together.

She wished it could go on forever. Nothing had ever felt so heavenly, so perfect. Each movement of him inside her touched a secret place deep within that produced the most delightful sensations imaginable, and she struggled to get even closer to him, wanting to pull him even deeper inside. Suddenly, the silk that held her hands in place gave way, and she slipped free. Her fingers immediately found their way into his wonderfully thick hair once again, pulling gently as the pleasure mounted.

"Oh, God, Mary!" Matthew gasped out in pleasure at her touch. On unsteady legs, he maneuvered them to the side, placing Mary on the edge of the bed. The silk coverlet began to slide under their weight, and their movements caused it to dislodge entirely. Slowly, they slipped to the floor together, taking the soft bed covering with them.

Mary sighed at the feel of his weight on her and lifted her knees as high as she could against her body, taking him deeper inside her as he continued to drive his hips against hers. His thrusts became less and less controlled as he felt himself approaching the edge of bliss. Recalling her frantic demand that he withdraw the last time they were together intimately, he gasped out a desperate plea that, this time, she allow him to remain inside her as they found bliss together.

"Mary, please...may I..."

"Yes. YES! Matthew!"

"Fuck, yes!"

Mary held him tightly against her, relishing the feel of his sweat-slicked skin slipping against hers as he shattered and erupted inside her. A final, erratic jerk of his hips sent her into paradise with him.

After several minutes, they had recovered enough to roll to their sides, wrapping the dislodged coverlet around them like a cocoon as they simply held each other close.

"You said 'yes.'" Matthew murmured suddenly.

"What?" Mary asked, pulling back to see his cheeky grin.

"I finally got you to give in and say 'yes.'" he explained proudly.

"Oh, that wasn't...I was answering your other question!" Mary retorted as she lightly slapped his chest.

They laughed quietly for a moment before settling comfortably back into each other's arms.

"I still want you to do it properly, you know," Mary eventually spoke.

Matthew drew in a deep breath before responding.

"If that's what you wish."

He briefly glanced down at their uncovered bodies under the coverlet before grinning teasingly at her again.

"I'd do it now, but it wouldn't be very proper with my trousers around my ankles, now would it?."

Mary laughed indulgently at him and stroked his thigh, relishing his delightful nakedness. "No, it wouldn't."

"I suppose I should have a ring to place on your finger, as well," Matthew sighed after a moment, thinking about his grandmother's ruby ring in his study drawer back at home. "When you get back to Downton, then?"

"Mmmhmm," Mary agreed. After a moment's silence, she spoke again. "And, Matthew..."

"Hhm?"

"You know you don't need to worry...about my answer?"

Matthew smiled happily at her reassurance, and responded,

"I know, Mary...I know."

Matthew allowed his fingers the luxury of lingering on the smooth skin of her bare back, tracing the line of her spine, as he drew ever closer to sleep. His lips turned up in a fond smile as another thought occurred to him.

"So, Andromeda ends up with the sea monster, after all," he spoke light-heartedly.

"No," Mary answered, pressing an affectionate kiss to his chest, just over his heart. "She was simply too blind to recognize Perseus when he arrived."

Matthew hummed in contentment and pulled her closer, reveling in the warmth of her loving embrace.

* * *

**_A/N2: _**_Well, he got a kind-of answer from Mary. :) At least he knows she intends to accept him once he proposes properly, so hold the tar and feathers, please! _

_I do hope you enjoyed their little roll-play. I had fun writing it. :D_

_If you have a moment, I would love to know what you thought! _

_Thanks for reading! _


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I'll go ahead and start off by assuring you all that, though this chapter does begin with a bit of angst, it doesn't end that way. :) **_  
_

**Big, big, big thanks to Willa Dedalus for helping me smooth out the numerous kinks in this chapter. Also, to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. It is all so very, very appreciated. :D**

* * *

Part XVIII

Mary watched from the upstairs window as her Aunt Rosamund climbed into her car and drove off, leaving her alone in the lovely Belgravia town home. She sighed happily as she pondered writing another letter to Matthew. Though she didn't have much news to relate, at least not much that would be of interest to him, the weeks of forced separation after all they had shared had been torment. She wished there were a way for her to return to Downton early, but she didn't want to risk raising her aunt's suspicions. It wasn't yet time for any of the family to learn about her understanding with Matthew. Once she returned home, they would sort it all out. Until then, she would simply have to bear his absence as best she could, often reliving their passionate night together before he left for comfort.

Matthew had written her two letters in the month they'd been apart, and she had written him two in return. They couldn't risk more without raising undue suspicion. But Matthew had managed to pack those two, brief missives with so much longing and adoration that she could hardly complain. Poetry, it seemed, was a great love of her intended's, for he opened and closed each letter with a brief selection. She had taken to re-reading his letters each night before going to sleep, the knowledge that she would soon have the real Matthew to keep her company nights warming her insides quite pleasantly.

Before she could sit down to actually pen the letter she was busy silently composing, the parlor door opened, admitting a gravely smiling Evelyn Napier.

The two exchanged pleasant greetings, and, while Evelyn was busy noticing Mary's happy glow and serene countenance, Mary was becoming concerned about her friend's unaccustomed somberness.

"How are the wedding preparations going?" she asked, hoping to draw him out.

"I'm afraid we've called it off," Evelyn answered softly, his eyes sad, yet resigned.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Mary responded genuinely. "The two of you seemed so happy with each other at the ball."

"It's better this way, I think," Evelyn continued. "From the looks of things, you'll soon have news of your own to announce."

Mary blushed and flashed him a conspiratorial grin.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Evelyn's face brightened at her playful tone, and he assured her that he was the soul of discretion.

"Well, you're absolutely right on that score. Matthew and I plan to make the announcement when I return to Downton next week."

"How marvelous for you both," her companion responded with a genuinely happy smile. "It was clear as clear to me that the pair of you had eyes for only each other at the ball. And, back when I visited Downton with poor unfortunate Mr. Pamuk, it was evident that you already had Mr. Crawley wrapped around your little finger. He must be ecstatic to have finally won your affection."

"I believe so," Mary answered demurely, modestly casting her eyes downwards as thoughts of just how ecstatic Matthew had been the last time she'd seen him brought a rosy flush to her cheeks.

Several more minutes of polite conversation ensued before the butler entered with a silver tray, prompting Evelyn to rise and end his visit.

"Lady Mary, it's been a pleasure, as always."

"The pleasure was all mine, Evelyn," Mary answered, rising gracefully to extend her hand for a gallant kiss.

"I wish you and Mr. Crawley all the best. I truly do."

"As I do you," Mary offered with an elegant nod as her handsome companion left the room.

"A telegram for you, milady," the butler spoke, pulling Mary's attention from Evelyn's retreating back.

"Thank you," she answered absently as she took the small slip of paper from the tray and opened it. It was from her father.

MY DEAREST MARY STOP I HAVE WONDERFUL BUT UNEXPECTED NEWS STOP YOUR MOTHER IS WITH CHILD STOP PLEASE INFORM YOUR AUNT STOP MORE INFORMATION TO COME BY POST STOP

* * *

Matthew sat pensively in the parlor of Crawley House on the day Mary was to return home, longing to see her and dreading their meeting at the same time. Now that Lady Grantham was again expecting, his entire future was in question. He hadn't heard from Mary since the news broke, and he couldn't say for certain how she would take it.

It would have been terribly foolish of him, after all that had passed between them, to think that she would refuse him outright. No, Mary wouldn't do that. She had as good as given him her word that she would accept when he proposed to her properly, and he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't go back on her word. If Mary was anything, she was loyal. No, his greatest fear was that this...this uncertainty...would strain things between them, that what they had shared together on the night before he left her in London would never again be the same. Would she look at him differently if he were a simple country solicitor and not her father's heir? Could she respect him if here doomed to be a member of the middle class forever? Would such a life suit her, or would she eventually come to resent him for dragging her down with him?

Where it not for the very real possibility that Mary could already be carrying his child, Matthew might have been tempted to put off his official proposal until he was more certain of the future he was asking Mary to embrace. Then again, it had been a month complete. She might already know for certain that it wasn't possible. He would have to ask her before deciding on the best course of action.

In any case, he wasn't sure he was prepared to face her that night at dinner, uncertain of her reaction as his was. Would she be happy to see him, as a lover so long separated from her beloved? Or would she look on him with resignation, with cold acceptance? Would there be worry in her fine eyes? Pity, even? How could he bear to see the change in her after knowing the joy of her complete acceptance and affection?

The logical part of his lawyer's mind told him that he shouldn't worry so much, that Mary couldn't be so inconstant as that. But his heart pounded out a painful cadence in his aching chest, reminding him with each doleful beat that he might not be able to offer the woman he loved the lifestyle to which she was accustomed - the lifestyle she deserved.

When the car arrived to take them to dinner, Matthew hadn't gone up to dress. He had no will to move from his chair by the window, and he certainly wasn't ready to face Mary. That night, he would think and plan, preparing and steeling himself for their inevitable meeting. He would face Mary the next day with his resolve firmly in place. If doing right by her meant waiting, assuring himself and her of the certainty of his future, he would do it - because Mary was that important to him. He had to think of her first, to think of her welfare and happiness. Once, he had been certain that he could make her happy. Now that belief had been firmly and cruelly shaken.

It took him several minutes to convince his persistent mother that he wouldn't be good company that evening, pleading a splitting headache as his contrived excuse. Isobel, knowing her son as she did, wasn't convinced that it was his head that bothered him, but she also knew better than to press Matthew before he was ready to talk. So, she left him to himself for the evening, already planning her strategy for getting him to open up to her the next day.

After biding his mother a gruff goodbye, Matthew poured himself a much-needed brandy and settled in for a long night of soul-searching.

* * *

"I'm terribly sorry, but Matthew wasn't up to joining us tonight," Isobel announced as she entered the drawing room. "He's been a bit out of sorts today."

Mary's brow furrowed as she tried to swallow her disappointment. She had been looking forward to seeing Matthew, hoping that he would find a quiet moment to offer the proper proposal he had promised. Why wasn't he there?

"I do hope he isn't ill," she spoke worriedly.

"I don't believe he is," Isobel answered with an air of concern. "He said he had a headache and wished to turn in early."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope he feels better soon," Mary responded, trying to mask her disappointment with false cheer.

"Since when did you care about Cousin Matthew's health?" Edith sneered under her breath, causing Mary to groan in frustration. As much as she would have liked to offer her embittered sister a witty rejoinder, Mary's attention was much too focused on her worry and disappointment to give Edith a second thought.

"I do hope he's not too worried about...things," Robert spoke awkwardly, not wishing to speak of such delicate matters as pregnancy in mixed company.

Mary's head snapped up at her father's suggestion. That was it! It had to be. If Matthew's prospects were uncertain then maybe...he thought her continued acceptance of his hand was too.

Forcing back the rising tide of indignation triggered by the thought that Matthew might think her so petty and fickle as all that, Mary rose gracefully to her feet, gloved hands lightly smoothing the fabric of her evening gown as she moved.

"Mama, I'm afraid I won't be good company this evening. Please excuse me. I'd like to retire now."

"Of course, darling." Cora responded, concerned by her daughter's sudden change in demeanor.

Everyone exchanged knowing looks when Mary left the room. Nobody knew what was going on between the eldest daughter and the current heir, but it was clear that something was amiss between the two. Dinner was, consequently, a somewhat subdued affair. As happy as he was at the prospect of becoming a father for the fourth time, Robert worried that, should he finally become father to a boy, the young man he had come to love and value almost like a son would disappear from his life. He had hoped that Mary might have been the key to keeping Matthew a part of all their lives at Downton, and would continue to hope that things between the two might yet reach a happy conclusion.

* * *

Matthew rose from his chair in confusion at the sound of the motor pulling to a stop in front of the house. Drawing back the curtain, he peered out, wondering if his mother had suddenly taken ill and needed to return home. He was stunned and bewildered when it was Mary, not Isobel, who emerged from the car and bustled up the path to the front door.

Before he could even formulate a coherent thought Mary had burst through the parlor door, pausing only to close it behind her before striding straight to him, throwing her arms about his neck for a tender embrace as though nothing were amiss.

"Oh, Mary," he breathed against her neck as his arms closed around her, holding her close. The scent of her perfume and the warmth of her against him filled his senses, infusing him with a deep feeling of contentment and _rightness_. He belonged here, in this woman's arms. To let her go would be indescribably painful, but he would do it if it was what was best for her.

Mary pulled back just enough to look up at him and placed a hand on either side of his careworn face.

"Matthew...darling, are you well? Your mother said you had a headache."

With a strained laugh, he replied, "I haven't got a headache."

"Then why didn't you ride with Isobel to dinner? I was so disappointed when I realized you weren't with her."

Matthew was slightly taken aback by this.

"Truly?"

"Truly," Mary answered with an affectionate grin. "I've...missed you, Matthew. And I was so looking forward to your proposal, and to...announcing it to the family...making things official."

"You still feel that way...even now?" he asked hesitantly, concerned by her cavalier attitude. "You don't suppose it would be prudent to wait until...things are more certain? Could you really be happy as the wife of a middle class solicitor?"

"If _you_ were that middle class solicitor, I know I could be," Mary answered him, punctuating her assurances with a brief kiss.

"You really, truly mean that?" Matthew asked in hopeful disbelief, a fierce and all-consuming happiness beginning to grow inside his chest, ready to blossom into a beautiful and complete joy with her continued acceptance.

Mary only nodded in response, but the joyful glow lighting up her dark eyes made his heart ache with hope and love.

"Your father has offered me Crawley House for life," Matthew began, his words flowing freely as each thought came to him, "so you will always be close to home. I do have some savings, and I'll work ever so hard for you, Mary - to give you all that you deserve. Perhaps, in a year or so, I can work my way up to partner at the firm. If I save...well, in a few years I could purchase us an estate if you wished. I'll invest...make money somehow. An estate and a house in London...anything you want, I'll get it for you..."

"Matthew, stop!" Mary chided affectionately, halting his frantic rambling. "There's no guarantee it's even a boy. But, even if it is, I don't expect you to work yourself into the ground just to try to please me. I'd much rather you spared some time for me and the family we'll have some day...assuming you ever get around to actually proposing. Honestly, I'm beginning to think I'm going to have to do it myself."

With a joyful chuckle, Matthew immediately dropped to one knee before her, gathering both her hands in his.

"Marry me, my sweetest, loveliest Mary, whether I be the heir to an earldom or a humble country solicitor...Hell, I may even run for Prime Minister! With you by my side, I think anything could be possible!"

Mary's eyes clouded with happy tears as her smile widened. It was the most beautiful proposal she had ever imagined, and she had never seen Matthew look so boyish or so joyful. She responded without hesitation.

"Yes! Yes, I will marry you!"

With an exuberant sigh of relief and exhilaration, Matthew stood and pulled her into his embrace, lifting her off her feet as he held her fully against him.

"There's one thing of which I'm absolutely certain," Mary spoke teasingly in his ear. "Life with you will never be dull, Matthew Crawley. In fact, I think it'll be a great adventure. The greatest, most wonderful adventure I could ever imagine."

* * *

Mary returned to the Abbey half an hour after leaving it with a jubilant Matthew in tow and a lovely ruby and seed pearl ring gracing her left hand - Matthew's grandmother's, he'd said. The ladies were just rising to adjourn to the drawing room when the couple entered, to the surprise of the entire party.

Shocked though he was, Lord Grantham wasted no time in securing Matthew's company for his after-dinner brandy, and the two were soon left alone. Mary reluctantly left Matthew to exit with the ladies, knowing that he planned to ask for her father's official blessing on their match before making the announcement. Questions abounded once they reached the drawing room, but Mary cooly demurred, explaining only that she had gone in the motor to fetch Matthew and that she would say no more until the gentlemen joined them.

Though no one was very surprised to hear that the two intended to marry, reactions did vary. Isobel was beyond pleased to see her son so obviously overjoyed, despite her personal reservations about his choice of bride. Cora was concerned for Mary's future, but genuinely happy that Mary seemed content in her choice. Sybil was profuse in her congratulations and sincere in her assertions that they would be exceedingly happy together, whatever the outcome of Cora's unexpected surprise. Edith simply looked cross.

Robert was so overcome with felicity upon the realization of one of his fondest wishes being so suddenly and unexpectedly fulfilled, he had taken Matthew quite by surprise by fully embracing him in front of the entire room. He embraced Mary as well, his heart full of a deep and unlooked-for calm that came with knowing his beloved daughter had found a good man who would love and cherish her for all her days. Whether Matthew was to remain his heir or not, Robert was tremendously pleased to have him for a son-in-law.

Of all the reactions in the room, Mary was most gratified by her grandmother's. The older woman pulled her aside into a quiet corner of the room, leaving Matthew to receive the profusions of the remainder of their relations alone for the moment. It had been evident by the Dowager's knowing smile that she hadn't been entirely surprised by the announcement, but it was clear that she was pleased.

"Mary, dear, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you for making this choice with the outcome of your mother's pregnancy still so uncertain. You've earned yourself a faithful and constant companion for life. That young man will love you until his dying day."

"I know he will, Granny," Mary answered softly, her eyes becoming dangerously clouded. "I just know he will."

* * *

**A/N2: A resolution at last! Only one more post to go. **

**As always, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on how things ended up. :D**


	19. Epilogue

_Epilogue _

_January 2nd, 1920, Midnight _

"What a marathon," Matthew groaned wearily as he wiped his damp brow on his rolled shirt sleeve.

"You're complaining?" Mary responded irritably. "I have stitches where one should _never _have stitches, and it is entirely your fault!"

"Come now, my dear," a smiling Matthew replied teasingly, "you enjoyed making our babies every bit as much as I did, and you know it."

Turning his back on his less-than-amused wife, Matthew leaned over the cot that had been placed, at his request, beside their bed to admire his tiny twin sons, absolutely identical and born within five minutes of one another.

They had been incredibly shocked when Clarkson announced that he could hear not one heartbeat inside Mary's rapidly growing belly, but two. Mary had almost hesitated to believe the doctor, remembering his misdiagnosis of Matthew's spinal injury the previous year. It seemed too incredible to be true. The very idea that she had _two_ babies inside her...well, it seemed impossible. Her belly had soon swollen to such an alarming size that she was forced to accept that it was, indeed, quite possible. She had been dreadfully uncomfortable for months, and her labor had been terribly long and difficult. She was stiff, sore, and completely exhausted. At long last, the final remaining family member had departed, leaving her alone with her proud husband and their new sons.

Matthew had insisted they keep the babies in their room, rather than sending them to the nursery. He was already completely taken with his long-awaited family, and hated the idea of sending them away from him. He and Mary had been separated so much by the war in their early years of marriage that, he supposed, they hadn't been together enough for her to conceive. Then he had been injured, and, for months, they thought they would never be parents.

After all the years of waiting, Matthew had been surprised, but elated, to learn that they were expecting two babies at once. Isobel had smilingly informed him that her own father, Matthew's grandfather, had been an identical twin. Now he had two perfectly identical boys of his own.

The entire family was, of course, delighted. Lord Grantham had been nearly catatonic with amazement at hearing that the twins were both male. He had even admitted to being rather impressed that Matthew had managed not a single boy, but two in one try. Matthew had only laughed, still too giddy with excitement to think of an intelligent reply, and allowed himself to be thus undeservedly praised. He had enjoyed sharing their great joy with their beloved family, but was glad that they had finally all gone, leaving him to enjoy the pleasant company of his sleeping sons and radiant, if a bit grouchy, wife.

He carefully reached into the cot to scoop up one deeply sleeping infant - "Reginald," his elegantly embroidered smock read. Isobel had painstakingly stitched the little garments, as soon as she learned that twins were expected, to help them tell their babies apart. There were also two frillier smocks bearing the names "Elaine" and "Madeline," that she had made up in the event that one or both babies was female. Now they were securely packed away for future use.

The proud father carefully placed little Reggie (as Matthew had already dubbed him) on the bed beside Mary before reaching for the other infant, who bore the appellation "William" on his smock.

Mary's mood couldn't help but lift as she admired her sleeping son - a tiny, perfect replica of his handsome father. She leaned closer to nuzzle little Reggie's soft cheek with her nose, taking comfort from his already familiar scent. She smiled tiredly up at Matthew as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, holding baby William carefully against his chest. Nothing in Mary's entire life had ever warmed her heart like watching Matthew hold their child protectively in his arms. Tears stung her eyes as her heart overflowed with love and joy.

When her eyes returned to Reggie's darling face, his brilliant blue eyes were open, watching her intently. His delicate lips parted in a toothless grin as Mary gazed down at him, and her eyes became even more clouded.

"I know that look," Matthew spoke softly as he watched his son gaze adoringly up at Mary. "I should. I've worn it myself, many times. Little Reggie's smitten."

No longer able to fight her emotions, Mary dissolved into exhausted, happy tears.

"Oh, darling," Matthew whispered gently as he carefully placed William back in the cot before leaning over to press several loving kisses to Mary's hair.

"It's been a long day," he consoled. "You're exhausted."

Mary nodded almost imperceptibly, stroking her thumb over the back of the tiny, chubby hand that was wrapped around her forefinger. She kissed little Reggie, who had already dropped back off, goodnight and watched through half-open eyes as Matthew lifted him from the bed. She was almost asleep by the time Matthew slipped in beside her, pulling her into his comforting embrace.

"Matthew..." she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember the night I accepted your proposal? When I said...that life with you was sure to be an adventure?"

"Of course I remember," Matthew answered, the happy memory prompting him to drop another light kiss on her soft hair.

"I was just thinking how right I was. First the war, and the many misadventures of Captain Crawley..."

Matthew chuckled at her teasing reference to his time as a soldier. He knew she had been worried sick for the years he spent more often at war than not, and she now tended to overdramatize his so-called "misadventures."

"...then I bore witness to a miracle of Biblical proportions," she continued in a theatrical tone, "and now, two babies at once. Never a dull moment in sight."

Matthew laughed quietly as he held her tighter, feeling his heart swell with love for the woman in his arms. His wife, the mother of his children. His beautiful, brave Andromeda. His storm-braver. His sweet Mary.

"Go to sleep, my love," he encouraged gently. "There's sure to be plenty more excitement in store for you when my sons wake to find that they require their beautiful mama's attention."

Mary simultaneously groaned and smiled at the thought, but soon relaxed against her husband's chest as she slipped into a restful slumber.

_The End_

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_**Thanks for sticking with this story, guys! Hope you enjoyed the happy ending. :D **_


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